


To Die in Love's Embrace

by Disasteriffic_Kaz



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Familiy, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-12
Updated: 2013-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-25 05:15:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,053
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/635497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Disasteriffic_Kaz/pseuds/Disasteriffic_Kaz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Winchesters are called to upstate New York to hunt a Banshee but find themselves the hunted instead. There will be some hurt/angst/comfort!Dean/Sam/John Pre-Series: Dean is 17, Sam is 13.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Really this was just an excuse to have some mush with my boys cause…I never get enough. I know John was a drill Sergeant and yes he butted heads with Sam obviously but I'm also of the mind that he wasn't always a complete ass when it came to caring for his sons. :D So, enjoy or tell me how wrong I am and I'll enjoy that too. Heh.
> 
> Also, I once lived in Fairport, NY for six years in high school. It really is a beautiful little village on the Erie Canal. I spent more nights than I can count on the edge of the canal at two in the morning with a flashlight and a notebook, writing.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_**CHAPTER 1** _

Fear shook his hands, made his breath hitch in his chest. He was so tired. His shoulders hurt and sagged, so sore from the dead weight as he'd dragged them.

"Dad." Sam Winchester whispered over his father. "Dad, please. Wake up." He didn't and Sam bit his lip to hold back a helpless sob. He turned to his brother, his big brother who looked so young now. "Dean?" Sam tried not to think how much blood he'd lost, how much saturated the older boys shirt.

"Sammy." The voice, her voice whispered again and he slammed his eyes closed.

"No." Sam said, a tear sliding down his cheek. They were going to die, his dad and brother. They would die if he didn't get help. Sam looked up to the hulk of the old green, iron bridge above them and wished a car would appear but it was silent in the dark. Only the gentle lapping of the water in the canal beside them and Dean's labored breathing broke the night air.

Sam settled the ball of his shirt on Dean's shoulder more securely to control the bleeding. The welt on his father's forehead mocked him. There was nothing he could do for them without help. He needed to get help.

Sam stood and walked to the edge of the salt circle he'd hastily poured to protect his family. He looked back at their still bodies.

"I have to try." Sam said and swallowed the terror. He looked back out into the darkness and stepped outside the circle. He took only three steps.

"Sammy." Her voice came again, this time at his shoulder and he whimpered as a gentle hand touched his bare back. "My Sammy."

He looked up. He knew he shouldn't. Sam knew it was wrong but he couldn't stop his eyes from betraying him. He looked up as soft arms encircled his shoulders, shivered as cold began to seep into his skin. He looked up into his mother's face and knew he was lost.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

~Three days earlier~

"Sammy." John Winchester sighed as his youngest son once again found himself pinned beneath his older brother. "You have to try harder."

Sam winced at the disappointment in his father's voice, frustrated. "Thought I was." He grumbled. He looked up and saw the apology in Dean's green eyes as he took his hand and got back to his feet.

"Again." John stood beside his sons, hands clasped behind his back. "Lower your center of gravity, Sam. You're smaller. You need to find the leverage point if you're gonna flip him."

"I know, Dad." Sam groused. He'd had a growth spurt finally but was still so much shorter than his brother. While Dean stood now at an impressive six foot two, Sam's thirteen year old body had only just broken five feet and those extra three inches seemed to make his body clumsy and unresponsive. He was tired of tripping over his own feet. Combat training was their father's answer to his youngest's sudden gracelessness.

Sam ducked the swing Dean threw at him and lunged into his brother, scoring an elbow along his ribs before Dean overbalanced him and he stumbled away.

"Nice one, Sammy." Dean rubbed his ribs and grinned. He towered over his little brother. At Seventeen he was taller than Dad which both pleased and unnerved him and quickly filling out with well-defined muscle. On their own, he would have gone easier on Sammy. He wouldn't have let him win but he'd have lightened up. Dad watching however meant no pulled punches. It meant Sam would have to best him or shake it off. Dad wanted them to be able to defend themselves and Dean understood that, even supported it but sometimes he just wanted Sam to be able to be a kid.

Dean stepped in to his brother, grabbing for his arm and smiled proudly when Sam slapped his arm away and took a kick at his knee. Dean only just danced out of the way in time and took a solid foot in the stomach instead.

"Good, Sam." John said. "Now, push the advantage."

Sam ground his teeth, irritated and aimed another kick. Dean was expecting it though. He grabbed Sam's leg behind his knee and tipped him onto his back.

"Oof." Sam grunted, slapping his arms out to save himself some of the impact.

"Sammy? You ok?" Dean bent, concerned and Sam smirked. Dean's eyes widened as Sam pinned his legs with his own and knocked him forcefully onto his back. "Crap." He grunted and groaned when Sam landed on his chest, pinning his arms. Not yet done, Dean wrapped a long leg behind his brothers' hips, gave a twist and easily flipped him, ending with the kid struggling beneath him once more.

"Better, Sam." John clapped Dean on the shoulder, waving him off. "But you need more practice and stop relying so much on those kicks. You're getting predictable."

"Am not." Sam grumbled and made his father frown.

"Sam…" John broke off when his phone rang and pulled it out of his pocket. He looked at the display, gave Sam a stern face and flicked it open. "Bobby."

Dean reached down and pulled Sam to his feet as their Dad walked off, talking. They were in a small park down the road from the house they'd been living in for the last five months. Sam watched his Dad pacing as he talked to Bobby and knew they'd be moving soon.

"Probably gonna have to move on now." Dean said, echoing his thought. He punched Sam's shoulder. "At least it's still summer. No school to worry about."

"I suppose." Sam absently rubbed his shoulder from the impact with the ground.

"Hey, come'ere." Dean grabbed him and started kneading strong fingers into his little brother's shoulder, Sam squirmed and Dean cuffed his head lightly. "Stand still." As always he was torn between training Sam properly and causing him pain. Dean easily rubbed the kink out of the muscle. "Roll your arm a few times." He said as their Dad came back. Sam did as he was told, rolling his shoulder and happy the discomfort was gone.

"We've got a job." John said and smiled. The prospect of a new hunt always raised his spirits. "Fairport, New York. Bobby thinks it might be a Banshee."

"That's a new one." Dean said and grinned with excitement.

"Let's go pack and get on the road." John clapped both boys on the back and gave them a friendly shove toward home.

For once, Sam really didn't mind leaving. Their little house rarely had hot water and sat in a neighborhood long since gone to ghetto. As close as they were to Cincinnati, it may as well have been a thousand miles. Dad had forbidden him to go out alone and Sam hadn't argued. The teenagers that roamed the streets just plain made him nervous.

Dean threw his arm around Sam's shoulders and pulled him closer as they walked. The neighborhood made him nervous for his little brother. He'd be glad to see the last of it in the rearview mirror.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

It was just after midnight as the Winchesters reached Fairport, New York. John looked over at Dean snoring gently with his head resting against the window and smiled. Sam he could just see in his mirror, curled against the back seat with his head propped on the door and sound asleep. John gave a small smile as he drove into the village. It lived up to its name: Fairport. Old, well-kept houses, stone and brick buildings on welcoming streets said this was a quiet town with good neighbors. The Impala rumbled up Main Street, past what John saw was the town library, and out onto a long bridge over the Erie Canal. A crowded marina spread out to either side of the bridge with small boats moored and rocking gently in the canal. As they rumbled to the other side a horn sounded and John stopped the car as a barrier dropped in front of train tracks.

The sound woke Dean who rolled his head off the window and looked blearily around. "We here?"

"Yep." John replied and rolled his eyes, amused; as he saw his oldest immediately spot the bar on the other side of the tracks. The train roared into sight and across the tracks yards away. Sam somehow slept through it with only a muffled grunt from under his coat. The train passed and the barrier lifted.

John drove on through the other side of the village, past a Retirement home that looked more like an old hotel. A minute or so past that was a golf course and just beyond on the other side of the road, as if sticking its tongue out at the wealthy golfers, a beat up Motel. John turned in and pulled up to the Office. He left the boys in the car and nudged the old man behind the counter.

"Eh? Oh! Hello." He sat up, pushed dented glasses back up to his eyes and smiled. "Heh. Sorry. Catnap. Happens at my age. Need a room?"

"Yes, please. Two beds." John dug out his wallet and the credit card he'd applied for a few weeks earlier and handed it to the old man.

"Okay…Mr. Hegeman. How many of ya?"

"Me and my two boys." John smiled back at him and signed the receipt he held out. "Not sure how long we'll be here."

"Oh that's no problem. You missed the Canal days festival so there's not a lot of tourist action in town just now. I'm Hank by the way." The old man gave him back his card. "You need anything lemme know or my wife. She's usually puttering around here somewhere."

"I will. Thanks." John collected the room keys and went back outside. He frowned when he looked at the car and saw Dean had moved to the back seat. He climbed in and before he could say anything, Dean spoke.

"Nightmare." Dean said softly. He'd heard the whimpers start and climbed back to Sam before it got out of hand. He sat now with Sam pulled across his lap and bundled in his coat, sleeping soundly again.

John nodded and pulled the car out, looking for their room as they went along the buildings. Sam could never tell them what it was he had nightmares about but John was fairly sure he knew. Some vestige of infant memory of his mother on the ceiling, burning. Sam may not remember when he woke but his sleeping mind had no problem pulling the image out to torment him with.

While John grabbed the bags from the trunk, Dean wiggled out of the car and carried his sleeping brother inside. Sam was getting taller but he was still short enough not to be a hassle and Dean honestly didn't mind at times like this. Sam crying out in his sleep could wrench his heart where nothing else would. Sam was getting older and less inclined to huddle in his older brothers arms so Dean cherished the times when he did all the more. He wasn't sure he was ready for all grown up and too big to be hugged Sammy.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam woke early and crawled out from the warmth of the covers and Dean, his personal space heater. Dad was sprawled across the other bed on his stomach, one leg hanging out like a thermometer. Sam smirked and headed for the bathroom. The room was nice, though he didn't really remember coming in the night before. Brown carpet and tan walls made it feel warm. There were pictures of what he assumed were Fairport on the walls during the day and night and he found he really liked the look of the village.

When he came out of the shower finally it was to find Dean sitting up in bed and glaring at him. "If you used all the hot water, runt, I'm gonna pound you."

Sam laughed and ducked the pillow Dean tossed at him. "There's a few drops left. Probably."

John came back into the room to find a wrestling match taking place and clapped his hands on a laugh. "Knock it off, boys. Dean. Shower." He ordered since he could already see Sam's wet hair. "We'll grab breakfast when you're done." Dean gave Sam one last thump and ducked into the bathroom.

Dean did indeed have to take a mostly cold shower. He grumped about as he brushed his teeth and shaved and opened the door to get his clothes. Sam was just reaching up to knock and smiled. "Dad's hungry. Says to get our cans out to the car now."

Dean snorted and stepped beside Sam, then he looked down and his eyes opened wide. "Dude. I think you're taller today than you were yesterday."

"Whatever." Sam said, figuring Dean was just leading in to another short joke.

"No really, Sammy." Dean ran to the desk and opened the drawer, grinning when he found a pen. He went back and shoved Sam against the bathroom door frame. "Just stand up straight." Sam rolled his eyes but did as he was told and felt Dean slide the pen along the top of his head and then wiggle it to make a mark. Dean nodded and then went to his own bag. Sam stepped away and looked at the new line on the doorjamb.

Dean dug the tape measure out of his bag. He'd started keeping one on him when Sam had started sprouting. Made the kid feel better to actually know he _was_ getting taller and not just imagining it. He gave Sam the end and waited til he'd bent to hold it on the floor, then stretched it up and grinned even wider.

"Told you! You've got almost a whole nother inch on you since last week dude!"

"Really?" Sam eyed the measurements on the tape himself and then smiled broadly. He was just that little bit taller.

"Come on. Dad's gonna be in here looking for us any sec." Dean ran to his bag and quickly pulled out clothes, tossing them on while Sam looked happily at the mark that said he wasn't going to be short forever.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

True to the pictures on the motel room walls, Fairport was just as friendly and inviting as it looked. They were sitting in the front window of a little diner Dad had seen on the way through last night that looked out the village. Sam was drawn to the canal and happier than he could say that the library sat beside it. He'd have a great view while he researched for the hunt.

"Bobby says at least five people have died or gone missing in the last few months here." John said as he pushed his plate away and picked up his coffee. He kicked Sam's foot under the table and waited until his youngest whipped his head around, paying attention, before he continued. "There've been two eye witness accounts. Both claiming to have seen a woman in grey. One says she was beautiful and lured the guy out near the canal. The other said it was a hag, screeching in the woods and she lost her friend. Never saw her again."

"So how's Bobby know it's a Banshee?" Dean asked, holding his cup out to catch the waitress's eye for a refill.

"Because unlike us, Bobby has done some research." John raised a brow at Dean who rolled his eyes.

Sam gulped the last of his juice and bumped Dean to move. "I can get started on that right now. Library's only down the road. You can see it from here." He looked hopefully at his Dad who after a moment smiled and nodded.

"Go on then. You have your phone?" Sam nodded. "Knife?"

"Yes, Dad." Sam rolled his eyes in a perfect mimic of his older brother. "And I won't leave the library without calling first." John nodded and smirked as his youngest practically bounced out of the restaurant and watched him all the way down the street and to the library.

"He'll be fine, Dad." Dean said and smiled. "So, where are we gonna start?"

"Witnesses." John grabbed the check from the table and stood. "Come on."

"Yes sir." Dean followed him with a glance through the window and too the library.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam stepped into the Fairport public library and breathed deep. He doubted Dean or his Dad would ever understand the sense of peace he got from the smell of books. It simply made him happy to be surrounded by all that information, useful and not so useful. He strode to the big, round desk in the center of the library and several minutes and puppy dog smiles later had himself a library card. The two librarians were more than happy to direct him to the local history stacks and he found the Mythology stack for himself on his way over.

He tossed his backpack on a table between the two and smiled at the view out the window at the end of the row. It looked out on a small park with picnic benches and just beyond them, with only a rope as a barrier, was the Erie Canal. Boats puttered up and down in the warm, summery day. Sam wondered how mad his Dad would get if he took his books and sat out there rather than inside. He shook his head and opted to stay inside for now.

An hour later and he had more than he needed to know on Banshees. Sam looked over his notes and shook his head. For a supernatural baddie they certainly got around; different cultures, different attributes, some evil, some not. He put the stack of books away and looked longingly outside where it was still sunny and warm and the canal was calling him. Sam shrugged. He grabbed the other stack of local history and urban legends and headed for the desk.

After checking out the books, he stepped outside and went around the corner to the little park. Sam set his books and backpack on the table next to the edge of the canal and climbed up to sit on top of the table. It was a good ten or so feet down to the water. Several canoes glided by. The Marina to his right was bustling with activity. He could hear people talking and the sound of cars passing over the nearby bridge and for a moment, he just soaked it in.

Sam pulled his notes out of his backpack and cursed when the wind grabbed the top few pages and spun them off along the grass.

"Hang on!" A woman darted up from where she'd been leaning against a tree, legs hanging over the side of the canal. She snagged his pages quickly, red hair flying and brought them over to Sam with a lopsided grin. "There you go. Gotta hang on to your papers by the water. Wind has taken more than one of my chapters." She laughed.

"Um, thanks." Sam managed and found himself smiling. He couldn't help it. Her crooked grin was infectious and her moss green eyes twinkled happily at him. She looked to be around Dean's age.

"No problem." She stuck out a hand. "I'm Kaz."

Sam shook her hand, looking up and chuckled.

"What?" She asked, one eyebrow rising.

"Oh, um…it's just." Sam stuttered. "The license plate on our car, the letters spell Kaz."

She laughed. "Well then I guess you're not likely to forget my name. So, researching Banshees?" She raised her hands when he stared, surprised. "I wasn't prying! I just saw it on the top page when I picked it up."

"Yeah, just curious I guess." Sam hedged and went back to his picnic table.

"Curious about the bridge huh?" Kaz said with a smile.

"Bridge?" Now Sam was interested.

"Yeah. Big green monster down the canal that way." Kaz pointed off to the right. "Doesn't get used a lot anymore except by teenagers jumping into the canal." She chuckled. "Locals call it the Banshee bridge."

"Why?" Sam sat on the edge of the table and looked down the canal.

"Actually, I'm not really sure." She shrugged. "I've only lived here a few years. No one's ever given me an answer that makes any sense."

"Sammy!"

Sam looked up in surprise when Dean came striding into the little park. "Hey, Sammy. You alright?"

"Yeah. I'm fine." Sam smiled at his brother and smirked when he saw Dean take in Kaz's tall, lean body. "This is Kaz. She was just…"

"I was helping him catch his notes. The wind took them." She took Dean's outstretched hand and gave him a long slow once over and her crooked smile. "And who are you?"

Dean grinned, now much happier with the little village than he had been. "I'm Dean. Sam's big brother."

"Aren't you just." Kaz drawled and reluctantly let go his hand. "We were just talking about the Banshee bridge."

Dean's brows rose in surprise and he gave his brother a look. "You been bending her ear, little brother?" Sam shook his head. Dean clapped him on the shoulder. "Dad's looking for us."

"Ok. Let me grab my stuff." Sam started shoving books and notes into his bag while Dean turned the full wattage of his devastating smile on Kaz. She blushed prettily.

"So, Dean, you gonna be going to school here come fall?" She asked and gave him a smile.

"I don't know. Kinda hope so now." He said and took her fingers loosely in his hand, playing with them. "What do people do for fun around here anyway?"

Kaz winked. "Depends on what you have in mind." She went over to the tree she'd been leaning against and pulled a notebook and pen out of her bag. Quickly she ripped off a piece and scribbled something on it and came back. "If you get bored, give me a call." She handed it to Dean. "If my little brother answers the phone, just ignore him. He'll give you crap."

Dean laughed loud and glanced at Sam. "Yeah little brothers are like that."

"Dean." Sam groaned, embarrassed.

"Come on, Sammy." Dean took his shoulder and gave one last, heated look at Kaz. "See you round."

"I hope so." She said, smiling and watched them as they left.

"You can tell me and Dad about this Banshee bridge." Dean draped his arm over Sam's shoulders as they walked. "Not a bad town this."

"I like it." Sam nodded.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued...  
_


	2. Chapter 2

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_**CHAPTER 2** _

"Well. This makes how to kill the Banshee problematic." John sat back in his chair, stretching his legs out and sighed.

Sam was going through his notes and nodded. "If it's a ghost, we'll have to figure out who she was, find her grave."

"And if she's something else?" Dean said, honing a knife as he sat on their bed. "What then?"

"If it's a true creature of Faerie, iron should work." Sam smiled at him. "Far as I know all the Sidhe are vulnerable to iron."

"Geek boy." Dean laughed. It never ceased to amaze him how his little brother could keep so much information packed in that little head and pull it out at will.

"Alright." John stood and pulled on his jacket. "I'll head over to the police station. See if I can find any recent deaths that fit the bill."

"She'd have been murdered or died in childbirth." Sam reminded his Dad. John patted his shoulder and smiled.

"Thanks, Sam." John gave Dean a stern look and then tossed him the car keys. "I'll walk over to the station. You." He pointed a finger at the surprised face of his eldest son. "Stay out of trouble and take care of Sammy."

"Yes, sir." Dean grinned and pocketed the keys. He gave an irreverent salute as his father left and closed the door behind him.

"Go on." Sam said and pulled another book from his bag. He smiled up at Dean. "I've got plenty to keep me busy here with research."

Dean watched Sam settle back to read and frowned. "Naw, I'll stay."

"Dude." Sam smirked up at him. "You'll be bored to death. The door and windows are salted." Sam waved an arm. "I'll be fine."

Dean wavered, not wanting to leave Sam alone but finally the itch to do _something_ won out. "Okay. I've got my cell." He patted his pocket. "You need anything, you call and you don't leave the room alone."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Geez, Dean I know the drill."

"That'd be more reassuring if you always followed the drill." Dean laughed and ruffled his hair, making him groan. "I won't stay out long. Might even beat Dad back."

Sam snorted. "Uh huh."

Dean laughed out the door and went to the Impala, sliding behind the wheel. He revved the engine once and put on his shades against the late afternoon sun.

"Let's see what this town has to offer, Baby."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

The sun had set and night was falling hard. Dean had ended up in the little bar on main street he'd seen when they came in. It wasn't much but it had a pool table, a bartender who didn't look too hard at his fake ID and his favorite tunes blasting from the jukebox. He'd hustled a good fifty bucks from an unsuspecting patron and was enjoying a rare beer.

He pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and smiled, taking his phone out and dialing. It rang several times and finally the voice he'd been hoping for answered.

"Kaz? It's Dean. Sammy's big brother." He chuckled and could practically hear her smiling through the phone. "Well I got bored. You said you could show me a thing or two." Dean grinned at the tone in her voice and the obvious attractions she had in mind. "Deland Park. Yeah I can find it. I'll pick you up in ten."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean drove, acutely aware of Kaz in the passenger seat. Her red hair blew gently in the breeze from the window. Her button down shirt was stretched across a chest he had trouble not admiring and her shorts…well. If he crashed it was because he couldn't help but follow the curve of her legs.

"It's just down this way." Kaz pointed to his left and he dutifully turned in past a sign reading Powder Mill Park. She directed him around the curving roads and finally pulled in at what she called the Sand Hill. It was something more than a hill, four or five stories tall at least. It was indeed fronted with sand and stepped with rows of short, wood fences all the way down to hold the sand in place. At its base was a small creek and water wheel lit with its own lights sparkling in the dark. It was beautiful.

Kaz gave him a mischievous smile as he turned off the engine and parked. "So, big brother." She leaned over and ghosted a breath along his jaw, making him shiver.

"Are all the girls here like you?" Dean asked, a little breathless. "Cause high school's not sounding so bad now."

Kaz chuckled. "I'm told I'm fairly unique." She surprised him then, turning and climbed over the seat to the back, giving him a brain numbing view of her rear as she went.

"Got that right." Dean grinned and followed her into the backseat. This beat the hell out of hustling more pool.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam stretched in the uncomfortable chair and sighed. Dad and Dean had been gone for a few hours. He stood and bent until the kinks in his back popped and then grabbed his books, tossing them on Dean's bed. He turned the TV on to have some company and dug a granola bar out of his bag.

Sam had a feeling Dean had called Kaz and smirked. She's struck him as being a match for his big brother, not the usual naïve townie Dean often chased after. He hoped someone would come back soon, it was getting on to dinner time. Sam rolled on the bed into the pile of books and then yelped in surprise at the sudden pain in his arm.

"What?" He gasped and scrambled off the bed. A long line of red glistened on his left forearm. He clapped his hand over it and shoved his books aside. "Ah crap." Sam groaned. He hadn't bothered to look and Dean's knife and whetstone had still been lying on the bed. Sam had unknowingly covered them up when he'd thrown the books on the bed. "Dammit." The cut on his arm felt on fire and blood was beginning to drip between his fingers to the floor. He considered calling Dean or his Dad and then shook his head. It wasn't that bad really. He didn't want to be berated for not looking before he leaped like a child.

"I can handle this." Sam said to reassure himself. He dripped into the bathroom and grabbed the nearest towel, pressing it to the lengthwise gash on his arm.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean wrapped his arms around Kaz's bare waist, hugging her to his chest. Her moans and the little whimper when he bit gently at her neck were driving him mad. Most of the girls he got in the back seat wanted reassurances and pretty lies. Kaz only wanted what he did; fun. Passion. It was refreshing and exciting and he groaned appreciatively as she shifted her hips.

Kaz arched her back until the back of her head rested on the front seat. Dean, never one to miss an opportunity, bent his own head to take advantage of what was offered.

"Holy crap." Kaz panted, breathless. She dug her fingers into his short hair as he chuckled against her skin and rocked her in his lap, making her cry out.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean lay across the back seat, propped up with Kaz tumbled on top of him as they re-learned how to breathe.

"Hope we…get to do this…again before you leave town." Kaz managed and laughed as he did.

"Not sure we'd survive but hey I'm game." Dean carded his fingers through her hair, enjoying the feel of it. He looked out the windshield at the Sand Hill and jerked in surprise.

"What?" Kaz said and looked up at him. She followed his wide eyed gaze and then smiled. "Don't worry about him. He's harmless."

At the crown of the Sand Hill, poised against the trees and the night sky stood a white figure glowing softly in the dark.

"Wait." Dean pushed them both up to get a better look and then glanced down at her. "You know what that is, right?"

"Ghost." Kaz laughed. "There's a few of them around here." She looked back up the hill. "Like I said, he's harmless. Pissed but harmless. He pops up to scare tourists mostly."

Dean looked down at her with surprise and new respect and began to understand why he'd been so attracted to her. He shook his head with a smile and brushed a hand through her hair. "They're right about you. You are unique." Kaz chuckled at that and started sorting through their clothes.

Dean resisted the urge to go investigate the spook. One, he didn't have backup and two, he was busy. He'd tell Dad about the haunted park later.

"Better get me home." Kaz pulled on her shirt and then leaned against his chest to steal a steamy kiss. "Mmm have to work tomorrow. Dammit." She pulled back and gave him the crooked smile he was becoming fond of.

Dean huffed a happy breath and toed his jeans from the floor. "Yeah I should get back to Sammy." Dean grinned widely when she climbed back into the front seat. "Yowza." He said softly and hitched his pants up with a sigh. If not for his little brother, he'd have given the ghost another show.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean bounced through the motel room door humming a happy tune and tossed the keys on the dresser. "I'm back, Sammy!" He called when he saw the bathroom door closed. He heard a muffled reply and grinned. It'd been a good night. He sat on the edge of Dad's bed and pulled his boots off. He dropped them to the floor and then stared, eyes wide at what could only be blood. He jumped to his feet seeing more of it on the bed and saw his knife, a red stain on its blade, lying among the pile of books.

"Oh shit. Sammy!" Dean ran to the bathroom. He didn't knock. He threw open the door and felt his heart leap into his throat. Sam sat on the floor with his left arm propped on the toilet. It was wrapped in a red stained towel and his pale face and glazed, blue green eyes came up to meet Dean's.

"It's not that bad, Dean." Sammy said weakly. "Honest."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued....  
_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Banshee Bridge" is an actual bridge in Fairport. We called it that because of the rather unique noise it made when cars would pass over it. It honestly sounded like the howling of a Banshee, or so we thought. Made great fodder for the imagination.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To those snickering/eye-rolling because I gave Kaz my name and had a bit of fun with Dean, I'll refer you to Dean himself: "Driver picks the music. Shotgun shuts his cakehole." :P and I'm drivin' the bus here baby. LOL heh heh heh heh
> 
> -The ghost described at Powder Mill Park is personal experience. Whether it's a ghost or something with a more rational explanation, I've never been able to divine but I saw him one cold October night years ago. He is angry and harmless. That park, the Sand Hill and I have history. XD

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_**CHAPTER 3** _

Dean dropped to his knees beside Sam, resting a comforting hand on the back of the kids' neck for a moment. His worry ratcheted up another notch at feeling the cold, clammy skin beneath his hand. He gently peeled back the edge of the towel and saw a four inch slice crawling up Sam's forearm. It was still oozing blood but Sam had stopped most of the bleeding.

"I'm sorry, Sammy." Dean was overcome with guilt. He couldn't believe he'd left without putting his knife up. His father would skin him alive for it and he would deserve every second of it. "Come on, Sam. I need to get you lying down so I can take care of this." He pulled his little brother into a shaky stand and watched as he swayed and ended leaning all his weight on Dean, rolling his head against his big brothers chest. "Ok, Sammy. It's gonna be ok." Sam looked a little green as Dean tilted his face up for a look. "You gonna hurl?"

Sam shook his head slowly, carefully and swallowed noisily.

"Ok, but if you blow chunks on me, I _will_ kick your ass." Dean said, trying to put a smile on Sam's face. He was rewarded with a ghost of one and walked him slowly out of the bathroom and to their bed. Dean tugged the bloodstained quilt to the foot of the bed, and helped Sam lay down. "It's gonna be ok, buddy." Dean's hands shook once, hard as he went for the medical kit. They'd left him alone, him and Dad and ok it was fine if Dad took off for a while but Sammy was Dean's responsibility and dammit what the hell had he been thinking?

"Not your fault, Dean." Sam said with a sad smile. "I didn't look before I jumped on the bed." He winced as Dean pulled the towel off his arm, peeling away some of the clotting blood.

"You shouldn't have had to look, little brother." Dean growled and set the towel under his arm to catch the blood while he cleaned the cut. He twitched with every whimper from Sam, every indrawn breath and smiled with pride when Sam reached into the bag and handed him the antiseptic. "It's gonna hurt."

"I know. I can take it." Sam said bravely

"I know you can, buddy." Dean took a firm grip of Sam's wrist and poured the antiseptic into the cut. Sam muffled his cry in the pillow and Dean could feel the massive effort it took him not to pull his arm away through the trembling wrist beneath his hand. "Ok, Sammy. Ok. Worst over." He took a pile of gauze and wrapped it gently over the wound. It needed stitches but Dean's hands were simply shaking too much just then. It could wait.

"Gon' be sick." Sam moaned and rolled to the side of the bed. Dean just managed to hook the little waste can over and get it under his head. He rubbed circles on Sam's back as he heaved. Just then, as if he'd timed it for the worst possible moment, Dad came home.

"Boys, I've got din…"John froze holding up the take out bags and stared at his sons. "What the hell happened?" He dropped the food on table and worked to swallow the panic at the obvious blood on Sam, his bed and the floor.

"Accident…Dad." Sam panted as he rolled away from the can and flopped back on the bed, exhausted. "My fault."

John strode to the bed and took the seat Dean vacated beside Sam. He pushed damp, dark hair out of his youngests' eyes and carefully looked beneath the gauze, eyes widening in shock. "What kind of accident?"

"Dad it's my fault." Dean said miserably and told him quickly what had happened. He saw his father's eyes darken with anger and then close before he reached out and clasped a hand on Dean's arm.

"We'll talk about this later." John said. He could see the misery on Dean's face, the guilt obviously overwhelming the young man and figured that was punishment enough for now. John handed the waste can to him with a nod at the bathroom. "Clean this out, get me a clean towel, water and where's the Tylenol?"

Dean jumped to action, playing nurse for his Dad while he quickly and expertly put a row of neat stitches in Sam's arm. Sam had a mouthful of blanket throughout the process, eyes closed tight as his pale face paled even further. By the end he was curled towards his father with his brother at his back, lying beside him rubbing absently up and down his good arm to comfort them both and fifteen new stitches.

"Ok, Sammy. Sit up for me?" John helped Dean prop Sam up against the pillows. "You need to eat something."

"Not hungry anymore." Sam groaned. The pain and the stitches had driven his appetite far away but Dad shook his head at him.

"Well you're going to get something down, son." John grabbed the forgotten bags and dug through, coming out with a small salad container. "How about this?" Sam nodded, resigned and took it with his good arm.

Sam picked through his salad while Dean inhaled a burger beside him. When he'd managed to eat half of it his Dad finally took pity on him and let him set it aside. Sam, looking younger than his thirteen years for a moment, rolled into his big brother, burying his head in his shoulder, careful of his bandaged arm and promptly fell asleep. Dean wrapped an arm over him and pulled the blanket up to cover him with a soft chuckle.

John smiled. "Poor kid's had a rough night."

Dean frowned and heaved a sigh. "I shouldn't have left him."

"Now, Dean." John sat on the bed beside his sons. "He's thirteen, well old enough to amuse himself safely for a few hours." He fixed a stern glare on his eldest. "That is when his big brother remembers to take proper care of his weapons."

Dean dropped his head to the top of Sam's and nodded miserably. "I know, Dad. I'm so sorry."

"You're on cleaning duty for the next week" John nodded at the weapons bag under his bed. He considered imposing some tougher punishment but honestly, the look on Dean's face told him he couldn't punish him more than he was himself. The bond between his sons was everything he could have hoped for as a father and more. Sometimes he almost felt left out between them. Dean and Sam could communicate with each other with just a look and it sometimes made his heart ache when his baby boy turned to his elder brother before his father.

Dean scooted carefully out from the sleeping Sam and dug his pajamas out of his bag, heading for the bathroom.

"We'll hunt tomorrow night." John told him. "I've got a lead or two we can follow. Might even get lucky."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean woke with a small heater against his back and yawned, pushing the blankets down. The heater twitched and mumbled against him and Dean shot fully awake. "Sammy?" He rolled over, gathering Sam up. His little brother moaned, moving restlessly in his sleep and was warm with fever.

"Dean? What's wrong?" His Dad's voice came sleepily from the other bed.

"Dad, he's got a fever." Dean said and blinked furiously as the light came on.

"It's alright, Dean." John rolled out of bed. "I expected this. See if you can wake him."

"Sammy?" Dean wiped a hand over Sam's fevered brow, brushing his hair back and then rubbed his knuckles in the center of Sam's chest. "Come on, little brother. Time to wake up."

Sam moaned and opened bleary, hazel eyes to look up at him. "Don' feel good, Dean." He said weakly.

"It's ok, buddy." Dean pulled him up against his chest and tucked Sam's head under his chin. Sam had always had a knack for developing fevers after injuries. Dean was hoping he'd grow out of it and stop giving him gray hairs.

John came back and sat, handing Sam two Tylenol and a glass of water. He cupped a hand to the side of his son's face and smiled. He was hot yes, but not as bad as he'd imagined. "My Sammy. Just can't catch a break." John said and Sam gave a weak laugh. John took the cold, wet washcloth he'd grabbed and set it across Sam's forehead. He sighed in appreciation and shivered violently against Dean for a moment.

"Go back to sleep, buddy." Dean settled against the headboard so Sam was propped comfortably against his chest. "I've got you."

"Kay." Sam mumbled and dutifully closed his eyes, absolute trust in the instant relaxation of his body that Dean would make everything alright.

John handed Dean the washcloth. "You get some more sleep too." He ordered.

"I will, Dad." Dean nodded, mopping Sam's brow and silently promised not to get any until his brother's fever broke.

John shook his head and got back in bed knowing full well Dean had lied. He shut off the light with a smirk and fell back to sleep to the soft whispers of his oldest son soothing his youngest.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

"Dude! You're hoggin' all the hot water!" Dean yelled, sticking his head in the bathroom. Sam had woken fever free and grumbled until Dad had let him up to shower after swearing he didn't feel that bad. "Sammy?" Dean had shouted, hoping Sam would yell back so he'd know he was alright.

"Help, Dean." Sam's voice came quietly over the sound of the water. Sam sat in the bottom of the tub where his legs had given out, just too weak to stay standing under the hot pulsing of the shower any longer. He was mortified to need help while naked and wet, just old enough now to be self-conscious.

Dean's arm slipped into the shower and turned off the water then a towel dropped onto Sam's head. His eyes moistened with gratitude for the big brother who saved his modesty. He wrapped the towel around under his arms. "Okay."

Dean pulled the curtain back and gave worried eyes to his little brother. "Ran out of gas, huh?" He smiled and Sam nodded tiredly. "Come on. Let's get you up."

"Is he okay?" John asked, stepping into the bathroom and peering around Dean to see Sam.

Dean saw Sam roll his eyes and blush and turned to his Dad with a chuckle. "Yeah, Dad. Give us a minute?"

"Hmph." John grunted, mildly annoyed at his sons kicking him out and left, shutting the door.

"Come on, shorty." Dean smirked and slipped his hands under Sam's shoulders. He stood him up and held him steady while he pulled the towel more securely around himself.

Sam's legs still felt rubbery and his arm ached fiercely. He'd not have made it out of the tub if not for his big brothers' arms. Dean lowered him to sit on the lid of the toilet.

"Ok buddy. You want help getting dressed or can you handle it?" Dean took the pile of clean clothes from the sink and put them on the back of the toilet.

"I can do it." Sam said and smiled. "Thanks, Dean."

"All part of the service." Dean mussed Sam's wet hair affectionately and left him to himself.

"He's alright?" John demanded as Dean shut the door.

"Yeah." Dean nodded. "Just ran out of gas and got embarrassed."

John nodded, relieved and wiped a hand over his face. "Need to get some food in him now."

Dean nodded again and sat on the bed, tugging his boots over. "Oh. There's a haunted park near here." Dean grinned up at the surprise on his father's face. "Saw a solid apparition last night."

"Violent?" John asked and started searching his son for signs of hidden injuries.

"Naw. Not last night anyway but he definitely gave off a bad vibe. Kaz says he's harmless."

"Kaz?" John scowled. "So a girl's responsible for your slip in weapon safety last night?" John shook his head. His eldest son was entirely too enamored of the opposite sex for his liking.

Dean ducked his head, feeling shame crawl up his neck. "Sorry, Sir. I swear, that's never going to happen again." The image of Sam bleeding on the bathroom floor because of him was going to stick with him for a good long while he knew.

Sam chose that moment to appear, bare-chested and holding his shirt in his good hand. "Can't get my shirt on." He said in an irritated whine.

Dean smirked and waved Sam over. "Sit." Sam did with a sigh and let Dean ease the shirt up over his stitches and to his shoulder, then over his head.

"I'm hungry." Sam looked up at his Dad hopefully and got a smile.

"Good." John took Sam's sneakers and knelt on the floor, slipping them on his boys feet. "Feel up to going out for breakfast?" Sam nodded, tired of looking at the motel room and the stains from his blood trailing across the carpet.

"You get too tired, you tell me." John ordered sternly and Sam nodded. "Let's get some gauze on that arm and we'll go." He patted Sam's sneakered feet. "We get some food in you and rebuild some of the blood you lost, you'll feel better." He pulled a hand through Sam's shaggy hair and swore to remember to give the boy a haircut one of these days.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Riki's Family Restaurant hummed with conversation as the Winchesters slid into an empty booth. It was a cozy little place tucked in an unassuming front on Main street. From the outside it was simple brick front. Inside was a cozily lit dining room done in browns and reds with lived in leather booths and a decor that said whoever owned the place wanted it to feel like his living room; inviting.

"God I want coffee." Dean moaned as the smell hit his nose. Only for Sam's sake had he curbed his usual morning whining for the all-important first cup of coffee. Now they were within reach of that delicious, dark nectar that he couldn't start his day without and his resolve not to be a baby for it crumbled, making Sam chuckle beside him. Three menus slid on to the table in front of him and Dean looked up into smiling, moss green eyes.

"Morning, sunshine." Kaz grinned down at him and he laughed then looked to his father's frowning face.

"Dad, this is Kaz. Sammy and I met her yesterday."

John nodded pleasantly at the girl, obviously his son's age and just as obviously a little enamored of him and smiled. "Nice to meet you."

"Hey, Kaz." Sam smiled happily up at her.

"Hey yourself, handsome." She said then frowned, reaching across the table and took his bandaged arm gently. "Sam what did you to yourself?" Concern was etched on her face.

"Accident with a knife." Sam shrugged. "It's not that bad really. I'm hungry though." He smiled. "And Dean needs coffee like yesterday. He's a total baby til he gets it." Dean growled at him and Kaz laughed, patting his hand.

"I'm on it. You too?" She looked at John and he nodded, amused and she left to get their drinks.

"She seems nice." John said to Dean, who blushed again.

"Yeah, she is." Dean mumbled and buried his face in the menu.

Kaz came back and set two mugs of coffee on the table. She set a tall glass of Orange Juice in front of Sam. "Drink it all. You'll feel better." John looked askance at her and she smirked.

"My Mom was a nurse. You pick up a few things, like how to mitigate the effects of blood loss."

"Whoa. Not just a pretty face." Dean drawled and took her slap to the back of his head with a laugh.

"I like her." John said smiling.

"Hey!" Dean protested with a bitch face his little brother would envy.

Kaz swallowed a laugh. "Ok, what can I get you?" She took out pen and pad and waited. They ordered and when Sam asked for oatmeal, she tilted her head and snorted before leaving to get their food going.

"Business." John said firmly, getting Dean's head back around from watching Kaz walk away. "I spoke to the police and got all the info they have on this woman." He took a folded manila folder from his coat and opened it, pulling out a picture and handing it to Dean. "Regina Morrigan. Couple years ago she went missing. Nine months pregnant."

"Man." Dean shook his head sadly, looking at the attractive woman smiling up at him from the photo. "That really sucks."

"They never found her body." John continued. "Just her clothes and a whole lot of blood in the woods near here."

"That has to be her." Sam said with a nod. It felt right to him.

"More than likely." John agreed. "Not only murdered but about to give birth? That's too much of a coincidence."

"How we gonna send her on if we can't find her bones?" Dean asked.

"The Banshee's been picking people off in those woods and on a bridge that's supposed to be close by. "Odds are she's buried somewhere in the vicinity." John smiled. "So we search."

"Chow's up boys." Kaz returned with a laden tray. She set mouthwatering plates of steak and eggs in front of Dean and his father. To Sam she gave a plate piled with pancakes and a bottle of syrup.

"This isn't oatmeal." Sam regarded the plate suspiciously.

"Got it in one." Kaz smirked. "You need the sugar more. You're too pale still."

John snorted. "She's right son. Thank you." He said to Kaz.

"No problem." She took Dean's coffee mug to refill it and then froze.

"Kaz?" Dean looked up at her and instinctively reached out, touching her arm. She was wide eyed, the blood draining from her face. "Kaz, what's wrong?"

She swallowed noisily. "Why…Why do you have a picture of my Mom?"

John's jaw dropped. "Oh god." He said stunned. What were the odds? He asked himself and stared at the shock on his sons faces. This was going to complicate things.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued...  
_


	4. Chapter 4

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_**CHAPTER 4** _

It seemed a moment frozen in time as Kaz stood and stared at the glossy picture in Dean's hand, the image of her dead mother. Shock shown on each of the Winchester's faces as the blood drained from the woman's, leaving her pale and fragile looking.

"Um…" Dean broke the moment and then stared at his Dad in desperation. He could think of nothing to say.

"Kaz." John touched the young woman's arm gently. "Can you sit for a moment?" He was scrambling to think how to handle her and how to take control of the situation. A few of the nearby diners were starting to stare and he didn't want that; too many questions. Kaz nodded to his relief, set the coffee pot on the table and sat heavily beside John. He pulled an ID from his jacket pocket.

"Kaz, I'm a Federal Agent." John held the badge out to her but she barely looked. "I'm here to investigate the disappearances, including your mothers."

Kaz reached over and took the picture from Dean, turning it to look as tears shined in her eyes but didn't fall. She studied the picture of her mom for a minute and then handed it to John. "You're not a Fed." She said softly.

"Kaz…" Dean started but she raised a hand, cutting him off.

"You didn't even blink at the ghost last night." She said, looking up at him and gave a small smile. "That's not normal. "I've met Feds. When Mom…when she died. You're nothing like them."

Sam elbowed Dean. "Ghost?" Dean gave him a look to say 'later' and Sam went back to his pancakes with a sigh.

"You're right." Dean said then and shook his head at the surprise on his Father's face. "She can handle it, Dad. She can." He said firmly and looked back to her. "Ghosts are kind of our thing."

She watched him carefully, looked at John and Sam and then down at her hands in her lap. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "You're here for Mom." She breathed it softly and looked up at John. "It's her isn't it? Disappearing people?"

John watched her, impressed with her self-control and for once approved of a girl Dean was interested in. He nodded. "We think so. I'm sorry."

Kaz nodded carefully. "I think I knew." She wiped at a tear that escaped down her cheek.

"I have to ask. Do you have any idea where your mothers'…remains are?" John asked gently but still she flinched. She shook her head.

"No." Kaz closed her eyes for a second. "I don't think they looked very hard when they searched those woods. The cops, they thought maybe she'd run off or something, even after they found the…the blood." She shook her head sadly. "Idiots." She said angrily and then sighed heavily, looking up. "Sam, eat your pancakes." She said, calm again. Sam dug into his pancakes, not because he wanted them but because she wanted him too and he felt sorry for her, losing her mom the way she had. It touched something in his heart that was almost as old as he was. Confused, he made a show of taking a big mouthful and smiling around it at her.

Kaz smiled softly back at him before frowning. "I always figured they were looking in the wrong place." She looked meaningfully at Dean and Sam. "They should have been looking around the bridge."

"The Banshee bridge." Sam nodded, agreeing. He thought it felt right though he couldn't say why.

"It's practically in the middle of those woods, crossing the Canal." She rubbed a hand over her face and stood. "I have to get back to work."

"You okay?" Dean asked and smiled sadly up at her. Like Sam, he now felt a similar connection to this girl who'd lost her mother to the supernatural.

"I will be. Please." She looked at John, a pleading look in her eyes. "Lay my Mom to rest?"

"We will." John promised and meant it.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

"So what about this ghost?" Sam asked from the back seat of the Impala and tapped Dean on the shoulder.

"Yeah I'm interested too." John glanced at his oldest with raised brows.

"It's just a ghost. Didn't even do anything." Dean shrugged. "I couldn't exactly go after Casper with the salt gun with Kaz there."

"Which would have been irresponsible to begin with." John frowned over at him. "You know better than to go off after something without doing the time on research and prep first. I know I've taught you better than that."

Dean looked down for a moment, shamed. "Geez, Dad. I wouldn't be that stupid ok?" John only gave him 'Dad' face, the one that said he wasn't sure his son wouldn't have gone off halfcocked if not for the girl. Dean turned away to look out the window and roll his eyes where his Dad couldn't see it. "So the ghost. There's definitely some anger there. Hell I could feel that at the bottom of the hill but he didn't do anything. Just stood up top and, you know, glared at us."

"We'll look into it once we get the Banshee." John said firmly. "May not have hurt anyone yet, doesn't mean he wont. Ghosts' a ghost."

"Yes, sir." Dean nodded.

"Now." John looked into the rear-view and caught Sam's eyes. "Sammy, you're in the car for this one."

"But, Dad…" Sam argued.

"No, Sammy. You're not a hundred percent. Be happy I don't drop you back at the motel." John said firmly and waited for the bad tempered nod of acceptance from his youngest. He and Dean both were training Sam and he was coming along quickly. It wouldn't be long at all until he was following them along on every hunt, taking his place and John looked forward to that day even as it scared him. For now, he was still a kid and an injured one at that. John was well aware how it chafed Sam to be left behind now he was learning to hunt and wanted so badly to be with his big brother.

"Dad I could keep an eye on him." Dean said softly and John rolled his own eyes.

"And have you divide your attention between your brother and a murderous spirit? I don't think so." John glared at him. "That's the third time today you've made me question your level of responsibility. You don't want to go for a fourth, son."

"Dad…" Dean groaned.

"Get your head in the game, Dean." John ordered as he turned onto a wooded lane and into the woods where the victims had gone missing. They'd had a quick take out lunch after making another pass at researching who had originally killed Mrs. Morrigan. As before, they'd come up empty. It was one of the reasons the police had been so sure she'd run off. There was no evidence of a killer. That pinged lightly on his radar as they drove through the shadowed woods, the late afternoon sun dappling the cracked cement as the Impala growled along.

"There it is, Dad." Sam's arm appeared along his Dad's cheek, pointing at the arch of dark green that began to appear through the trees. "That has to be the bridge."

"Don't distract the driver, runt." Dean mock growled and grabbed Sam's arm, tossing it back at him.

"Jerk." Sam retorted and reached up to flick his brother in the ear. Their Dad growled and the boys subsided with amused looks at each other.

John pulled off the road just before the bridge and came to a stop against the trees. "Sammy, you can help us search for a grave site." He looked at his watch, considering. "For an hour then you're back in the car til we're done."

Sam grinned, excited and happy that his father had relented, trusted him enough to let him help at least this much. "Thanks, Dad."

John smiled and shook his head at himself. He'd seen Sammy's patented puppy dog eyes in the rear-view and been helpless, unable to cut him out of the hunt completely despite his better judgment. "Don't make regret it, Sammy."

Dean chuckled and got out of the car with his father and brother. "I'll keep him in line."

"We will both will, Ace." John strode to the trunk, throwing it open and revealing the hidden arsenal. He handed a shovel and shotgun to Dean, took one of each for himself and pulled the strap of his bag over his shoulder. Then he handed a third sawed off shotgun to Sam.

"You know the drill, Sam." John said as Sam took the proffered weapon. "Safety on until you need it."

"I know, Dad." Sam groaned. He held the barrel awkwardly for a moment with his left hand as his stitches stung.

"You good, Sammy?" Dean asked. Their Dad had already turned toward the bridge so didn't see the tightening of pain around Sam's eyes.

"Yeah, Dean." Sam nodded. Dean gave him a gentle shove towards their Dad with a smile and resolved to keep a close eye on him.

The Banshee bridge suited its name as the Winchesters stepped onto its aging span. It was an old, iron bridge of the kind no one made anymore. It arched up and over the wide, brown waters of the Erie canal. Sam had thought it was painted green but as he walked close to one of the wide support beams he saw that the metal had oxidized over the decades.

"You boys take this side of the canal. I'll cross and search the other side." John nodded at Dean. "One hour then get Sam back in the car and meet me here."

"Yes, sir." Dean checked his watch. "See you in an hour."

"Be careful boys." John said seriously and strode off towards the other side, boots ringing against the metal.

"You think the Banshee can come up here on the bridge?" Sam asked, following Dean toward the woods.

"Nah. She's a ghost and that bridge is solid iron." Dean assured him. Sam nodded but still wondered just how safe it would be. It wasn't like they could toss it at her. He pulled his wandering mind back to the woods as he and Dean began a systematic search of the area around the bridge. The woods were dense. Even though it was still daylight the thick, summer foliage darkened everything and cooled the summer heat into something pleasant. They found several spots where the ground had been disturbed but no bones apart from an unfortunate squirrel.

"This sucks." Dean groaned, climbing out of his third hole. He swiped a dirty arm across his face and into spiky, dirty blonde hair. "She's gotta be around here somewhere."

"We should look by the bridge." Sam shouldered his gun now Dean was out of the hole and picked up his own again along with the shovel. "Honest, I just feel like she's there."

"Yeah, maybe." Dean turned toward where he knew the bridge to be and frowned. Sam's feelings were rarely wrong. He looked down at his watch then. "Time's up. Dad and I will check it out. Come on, Tiger."

"Aww." Sam moaned. He wanted desperately to stay with Dean but night was falling and he knew his Dad would stick to his orders.

They trudged through the forest back to the car, both quiet and alert. Dean stayed within arm's reach of his brother. Night was coming, he could feel it. He felt a tension building in him as the sun crept further to the earth. The world dimmed and he wanted Sam in the safety of the car before the sun was gone. Dean breathed his relief at the comforting sight of the Impala through the trees. They reached the car and he opened the passenger door.

"Stay alert, Sammy." Dean watched him slide into the seat, gun across his lap.

"I've got my gun." Sam said and smiled in reassurance. "I'll be fine. You'd better go before Dad has to find you."

Dean laughed and reached in to ruffle Sam's hair before closing the door. Sam watched Dean stride confidently toward the bridge and smiled. Rather than fume at being left behind, he preferred to think of himself as protecting the car; Dean's baby. Dean loved the Impala maybe more than their Dad and that was saying something.

He could just see Dean outlined against the quickly fading sky. Far off across the bridge Sam saw a shadow crossing and knew from the way it moved, it was their Dad. He saw them meet in the middle. Dean turned and gave Sam a wave and then they headed away, across to other side once more. Sam fidgeted in the set, checking and rechecking his shotgun. He popped open the glove box to make sure the flask of holy water was there in case he needed it. Now that he was truly alone, the nerves he hadn't felt earlier while Dean was with him came to assail him. If something happened, how would he know? What if they were hurt? What if they never came back? He dug in his pocket for his cell phone and was relieved when he pulled it out. He set it beside him on the seat and looked out to the bridge again. Night had truly fallen now. The sky over the bridge and above the trees was darkening from deep blue to black and slowly color leeched out of the world, leaving behind varied shades of black and grey.

Sam stared watchfully around the woods near the car and across the road. His eyes kept straying to the bridge, hoping to see two shadows coming back to him. It was still and quiet. He strained his ears and rolled the window down a crack. "It's too quiet." Sam said softly and felt his skin prickle. The forest had gone silent. The crickets had stilled, the owl that had been mournfully hooting a few minutes ago had stopped. Even the breeze seemed to slow leaving only the gentle lapping of water from down in the canal to carry through the night.

Sam clutched his shotgun tighter and began silently calling for his father and brother. He wanted them to come back now, needed them too. Every fiber of his being was vibrating with the certain knowledge that everything was about to go pear shaped. He put his hand on the door handle, then took it off, then grabbed the handle again and suffered. If he left the car, his Dad would never forgive him. If he found them and nothing had happened, he'd be doing laps for a month. If he stayed and they were hurt…Sam groaned and pulled the handle, opening the door.

He looked up and froze, seeing movement on the bridge. Sam peered through the windshield and then gasped in relief when he saw two shadows coming back across the bridge. He pulled the door shut quickly and grinned. They were safe, they were fine and they were coming back to him. Sam watched as they got closer and closer. They were nearly across and then, as he'd feared, it went sideways. He wrenched the door open, lurching out of the car and yelled.

"Dad! Dean! Watch out!" Sam cried. Behind his family, a ghostly apparition was forming on the bridge. She was cloaked in white, long red hair waved about her as if in a breeze. Her feet floated just above the metal of the bridge. Sam ducked around the door and ran for his brother and Dad.

The Banshee reached as John and Dean were distracted watching Sam. She ripped the shovel out of John's hands. He gasped and whirled, bringing his gun up a second too late as the shovel cracked him in the head. He felt himself thrown. Felt his feet catch briefly on the side of the bridge and then mercifully passed out as he fell away.

"DAD!" Dean shouted and took aim at the Banshee as half his father's shovel spun off onto the bridge with a clatter. She flickered away as he shot and missed. A moment later she appeared behind him. Dean whirled, rage in his eyes and worry in his heart. He jacked a fresh round into the chamber but couldn't duck the broken handle of the shovel as she stabbed it into his shoulder and yanked it back. The pain swallowed him as he felt warm blood gushing to cover his chest. He dropped to a knee, gasping; the gun fell from his nerveless fingers and he looked up into her ethereal face.

Dean's eyes opened wide in surprise as she dissipated in a cloud of light and smoke, the sound of a shotgun loud in his ears. Beyond the Banshee as she vanished he saw Sam; His little brother, gun raised and running full tilt toward him.

"Dean!" Sam shouted, fear on his face and Dean wanted to comfort him. He wanted to tell Sam that everything was alright but his body wouldn't cooperate. He felt himself slipping sideways and the last thing he saw were the feet of his brother before he closed his eyes and floated away.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued...  
_


	5. Chapter 5

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

" _Dean!" Sam shouted, fear on his face and Dean wanted to comfort him. He wanted to tell Sam that everything was alright but his body wouldn't cooperate. He felt himself slipping sideways and the last thing he saw were the feet of his brother before he closed his eyes and floated away._

_**CHAPTER 5** _

Sam slid to a stop on the bridge, dropping to his knees in a panic. "Dean! Dean!" Sam took his big brothers face in his hands. He could see Dean breathing heavily but he was unconscious and bleeding. Sam looked warily around them but the Banshee was still out of it, at least for the moment. He jumped to his feet and ran to the railing of the bridge to look over and nearly fell to his knees in relief when he saw his father on the ground below, rather than in the water. Panic ripped through him then. Dad was not moving, unsettlingly still on the dirt below.

"Sa…Sammy." Dean's weak voice spun Sam around and he sprinted back to his brother.

"Dean? Are you ok?" Fear made Sam's voice crack, tears threatening to fall.

"I'm awesome." Dean managed breathily through the pain burning into his shoulder. His eyes rolled, making him nauseous as Sam stripped off his T shirt.

"This is gonna h-hurt. I'm sorry." Sam folded his shirt carefully and waited until Dean gave him a short nod.

"Do it. Then we gotta find Dad."

Sam placed the shirt over the stab wound and pressed. He leaned into it even as Dean cursed and writhed once, moaning and then crying out. "I'm sorry." Sam said again.

"S'okay S-Sammy." Dean hissed between his teeth and fought the blackness that tried to claim him again. "Dad?"

"Under the bridge." Sam eased up and lifted the corner of his shirt to see if the bleeding had stopped. "It's still bleeding, Dean."

"Yeah but it's slowed." Dean gritted his teeth and pushed himself up, clapping a hand to the makeshift bandage. "It's ok, Sammy. We need to get Dad. Help me up." It was awkward, his much shorter brother trying to get him to his feet and Dean spent several moments on reaching his feet just holding on to Sam while the blackness assaulted him in waves, trying to take him down once more.

"Dean?" Sam's scared voice brought him back and he forced himself to smile.

"It's ok, little brother. I'm ok. Come on." Dean turned them both toward the road and started shuffling, using Sam's shoulder more as a crutch since he couldn't exactly lean down on him. Sam kept hold of his shotgun. He swallowed against the fear and worry as he felt warm drops hitting his bare shoulder. Dean's elbow dug into his shoulder and his sore left arm didn't want to hold the gun up properly but he forced it up.

"Damn bridge…didn't keep her away. What the hell?" Dean grumbled, slurring lightly as they stepped from metal to earth.

"She was floating." Sam looked up, startled by the paleness of his brothers usually tan face. "Her feet weren't touching anything."

"Not…fair." Dean looked down the incline to the water below and could just see his father over the tall weeds. He blew out a breath and leaned more heavily on Sam as they started down.

"Dad?" Sam called out, hoping to get a response. There was nothing.

"Sammy!" Dean gasped and turned him toward the bridge.

Sam turned to see the Banshee had returned and was now floating toward them. He raised the gun and pulled the trigger. At the same moment, a force slammed into Dean and knocked him from his feet to plant face first into the hill with a grunt.

Sam's shot slid just past her as Dean fell and threw his aim off. "Dean!" Sam aimed again and froze, looking up at her. She changed before his eyes. Her red hair bled to blonde. She thinned and grew taller, the angles of her face softening. Her now full lips pulled into a gentle smile as her arms reached slowly out to him.

"Sammy." Her voice breathed, slithered on the night air to his ears and he shivered.

"No." Sam said softly. The woman before him was one he had only seen in pictures, had no conscious memory of and even as he ached to be held by her he knew it was a trick and felt tears slide from his eyes. "You're not her." He pulled the trigger as she neared and gasped at the sound as the visage of his dead mother vanished in a burst of light and rock salt. He shook himself and turned to find his brother. Dean laid face down where he'd slid and as Sam reached him, he sobbed in a breath. Dean was out again.

Sam closed his eyes for a second and just breathed, trying to get the terror under control. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Dad and Dean were supposed to protect him; save him, not the other way around. He felt as though his world was falling apart. He opened his eyes and looked up the hill, knowing he'd never get his father and brother up the incline. They were simply too big.

"Make a decision, Sam." He told himself fiercely, his family's lives in his hands. Sam dropped the shotgun to the ground, ignoring it as it rolled away and took Dean beneath his arms. He turned him over and then dragged him down the hill. Even having the benefit of gravity, Sam's shoulders burned by the time they reached the bottom but he couldn't afford to stop and rest. At the bottom, he dragged Dean past their father's still form and under the bridge. Sam settled him as best he could, replacing his balled up, now blood-soaked shirt against Dean's shoulder then ran back to his father.

"Dad." Sam said, crying. He patted his father's cheek, then gave it a light slap but received not even a blink. He swallowed back the tears and took his father under his shoulders and began to drag him towards his brother. He left them side by side and then sprinted out from under the bridge and back up the hill. His time was growing short he knew. She'd be back soon and he needed to protect them.

Sam skidded around the side of the bridge and out onto its span, running to where his father's bag had fallen. He scooped it up and turned back, his lungs burning and ran back off the bridge. He slid down the last few feet of the hill, crying out as his bad arm was jarred and felt some of the stitches tear away but it didn't matter. He knew he had to be faster. He dropped the bag between his Dad and Dean and dug hastily through coming out with a large jug of salt. He popped the pour spout open and poured a hasty circle of salt quickly all around the older Winchesters. He made sure the line was thick and far enough from their arms and legs they couldn't accidentally break it. The jug empty, Sam dropped it and let it roll away, going to fall to his knees between them.

Fear shook his hands, made his breath hitch in his chest. He was so tired. His shoulders hurt and sagged, so sore from the dead weight as he'd dragged them, his wounded arm burning pain down into his fingers.

"Dad." Sam whispered over his father. "Dad, please. Wake up." He didn't and Sam bit his lip to hold back a helpless sob. He turned to his brother, his big brother who looked so young now. "Dean?" Sam tried not to think how much blood he'd lost, how much saturated the older boys shirt.

"Sammy." The voice, her voice whispered again and he slammed his eyes closed.

"No." Sam said, a tear sliding down his cheek. They were going to die, his dad and brother. They would die if he didn't get help. Sam looked up to the hulk of the old green, iron bridge above them and wished a car would appear but it was silent in the dark. Only the gentle lapping of the water in the canal beside them and Dean's labored breathing broke the night air.

Sam settled the ball of his shirt on Dean's shoulder more securely to control the bleeding. The welt on his father's forehead mocked him. There was nothing he could do for them without help. He needed to get help.

Sam stood and walked to the edge of the salt circle he'd hastily poured to protect his family. He cursed himself for leaving the shotgun on the hill and looked back at their still bodies. Dean would never have made such a fundamental mistake, he knew. He wished Dad would wake and tell him how stupid he'd been to leave it, to forget his only defense.

"I have to try." Sam said and swallowed the terror. He looked back out into the darkness and stepped outside the circle. He took only three steps.

"Sammy." Her voice came again, this time at his shoulder and he whimpered as a gentle hand touched his bare back. "My Sammy." His foot sank slightly in the ground and he felt something beneath his shoe. He looked; eyes widening to see what could only be a bone just protruding from the trodden soil. He could do nothing but his Dad and Dean, when they woke, they could finish it. He scrabbled his fingers at his left wrist and let his watch fall with a soft thump to the ground beside the bone.

"Come with me, Sammy. I need you. Please." The Banshees voice called to him and he wondered if that was really how his mother sounded; sad and loving all at once.

He looked up. He knew he shouldn't. Sam knew it was wrong but he couldn't stop his eyes from betraying him. He looked up as soft arms encircled his shoulders, shivered as cold began to seep into his skin. He looked up into his mother's face and knew he was lost.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

John Winchester groaned. He knew he should open his eyes but was loathe too. Pain ricocheted back and forth through his skull and he could feel nausea waiting in the wings to have its say. Memory nagged at him as he breathed in the scent of night air and water; listened to the gentle lapping of water as it tried to lull him back to sleep.

He was forgetting something; something important. There were flashes of a motel room, a diner, red hair, his sons teasing each other in the car, a forested road, a bridge…

"SAM!" John's eyes flew open. "Dean!" He remembered. The Banshee had come for them. Sam had tried to warn them. He turned his head, swallowing the nausea that threatened to swamp him and then rolled to his knees while the ground spun beneath him. He breathed through it, refusing to pass out with his blood covered son beside him. "Dean! Answer me, son." John took Dean's pale face in his hand and checked his shoulder. He pulled aside the blood soaked shirt and gasped, recognizing it as Sam's.

"Sammy!" He shouted and looked around for the first time. His mind was still in fragments, trying to order itself around the pain in his head. Sam was nowhere in sight. They lay beneath the hulk of the bridge inside a salt circle and John could see it was ringed with Sam's footprints. "Sam! Dammit you answer me!" He waited to hear his youngest's voice and felt his chest squeeze with fear when no answer came.

He went back to Dean and hissed in sympathy when he found a stab wound beneath the blood. Sam's shirt had done its job. The bleeding was nearly stopped. "Dean." John slapped his face gently. "Wake up, son." He slapped his son's face a little more firmly. "Sammy needs us, son. Time to wake up." Please wake up, he said silently to himself.

As if he'd said the magic word, Dean moaned. His head rolled into his father's hand and his eyes cracked open.

"D-Dad?" Dean's voice was weak and he hated that. He looked up at his father, saw the welt across his forehead and remembered seeing him laying frighteningly still below the bridge. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Dad…you okay?"

John gave a short, pained laugh. "I'm fine. I've had worse knocks on the head from better spirits."

"Sammy!" Dean yelled suddenly and launched himself upright. Only his fathers arm behind his shoulders kept him from falling back. "Dad! Sam saved us! The Banshee…that bitch was coming back!"

"Ok, ok Dean." John settled his eldest back to the ground. Fresh blood was beginning to seep from the wound. "Lay still, Dean." He ordered as Dean struggled to sit back up.

"Where's Sam?" Dean asked, near frantic. "Dad where is he? We gotta find him!"

"We will, son." John pulled his duffel over, beyond relieved to find it there and pulled out the First Aid kit. "We're not going anywhere until we get you patched up."

"I'm good." Dean argued. He could hardly breathe through the fear of knowing Sam was missing. "Dad he wouldn't just leave us. Please!" His father held him down with a hand to his chest.

"Dean!" John said forcefully, relieved when his son's eyes snapped up to his. "You're not going to do Sam any good if you bleed to death trying to find him." Dean's eyes blazed up at him with rebellion for a moment more before he finally relaxed into the ground. "Good. I'm gonna stitch this up and put a pressure bandage on it." John said as he pulled a metal whiskey flask from his pocket. It was dented from his trip over the bridge. "I need to sterilize the wound. This is gonna hurt, Son."

Dean let his eyes close, more upset than he could describe hearing his father echo his brother. "Sammy." Dean said softly and cried out as the whiskey burned into his shoulder.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Sam shivered where he sat against a tree beside the canal, the rough bark biting into his bare back. He had expected to die. The Banshee had carried him, untroubled by his size, as though he were a small child. The cold of the grave had seeped into his back and arms as she held him close. Pain began to pound through his head with every frosted breath that escaped his lips. She had spoken softly to him. Hearing his name on her lips with his mother's face disturbed him on a visceral level. He wanted his Dad and he wanted to crawl in Dean's lap like he had as a small child and feel safe. He didn't feel thirteen just then. He felt more like five and desperately wanted his big brother to come scare away the monsters.

She stood over him now just looking at him. He was so cold. He could see the blue tint to his skin. Sam tried to rub feeling back into his arms with sluggish hands but it was pointless so long as she stayed near him. It was eighty degrees at least, a true warm summer night but he couldn't feel it. The Banshee brought her own winter with her.

She reached a hand out to him again, running it through his hair then freezing fingers down the skin of his chest. The cold seeped deeper into him and Sam couldn't find the energy to move away.

"My Sammy." She whispered in her otherworldly voice.

"I'm n-not…your Sammy." He said again for the hundredth time. "You…are not…my Mom." Sam worked to keep his voice strong, his words clear. She didn't seem to hear him and brushed her hands down his arms. She cupped the side of his face in frigid fingers and made him wince with pain.

"My darling boy."

"K-Kaz." Sam stuttered, his mind fogging with cold. The hands on his face stilled. "You're her m-mom." Sam forced his eyes to stay open to look at the face inches from his own. "Kaz."

The Banshee released his face. She straightened, frowning down at him. His mother's face began to slowly change, her hair bleeding back to red.

"Kaz." Sam said again and fought the cold that wanted to eat him.

The Banshee's eyes widened and she threw her head back in a scream. Sam flinched as the sound pierced into his splitting head. A moment later he was flying through the air, tossed like a rag doll by a ghost who no longer confused him for her son. Sam had only a moment to suck a frantic breath into his frozen body before he hit the warm water and sank into the Erie Canal.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean jerked back from the semi-unconsciousness that had claimed him as a strange scream broke the still of the night. "Dad?" He asked and John shook his head.

"Almost done." John bent back to Dean's shoulder and started the last stitch. He knew what that scream must be from the descriptions Sam had read to them. The question that made his hands shake and the breath stop in his throat was 'why now?'

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued...  
_


	6. Chapter 6

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_**CHAPTER 6** _

Dean ground his teeth as his Dad tied off the last stitch. The Banshee's scream sounded again and sliced through his tender head.

"Hold on, Dean." John took his son's good hand and held the whiskey flask over the wound again.

Dean couldn't help the low moan as he closed his eyes, anticipating the coming pain. He felt the cool flow of liquid a second before the agony crawled through him. He heard someone scream and dimly realized it was his own voice as the blackness closed in on him.

"Dean." John's heart broke as his son cried out and carefully pulled Dean's head and shoulders into his lap. He ran his fingers through his son's short, cropped hair to soothe him. "Dean. Come back now."

"Sam." Dean's voice scraped out of a raw throat. He forced his eyes open to see his Dad's worried face close to his own.

"We're gonna find him." John rubbed along Dean's good shoulder. "I promise."

Dean let his head roll to the side, overcome with exhaustion even as all he wanted to do was leap to his feet and search for Sam. His eyes blurred and studied the ground outside the circle then narrowed and Dean grabbed at his father's arm.

"Dad! Sam's watch!" Dean gasped and pointed. John looked, following his line of sight and drew in a surprised breath. Lying just outside the circle, Sam's watch glinted briefly in the moonlight.

"Up you go, son." John pulled him up to a sitting position and scooted away. He went to the edge of the circle, ignoring the sudden dizziness from his concussion and knelt. He reached out to pick it up and gasped when it pulled a bone with it.

"He found her bones." Dean's voice at his elbow startled him. John looked up to see Dean swaying and pulled him down.

"Alright. Here's the plan." John reached back and pulled the duffel over. "You're gonna dig up her bones. Salt and burn them. I'm gonna run back up there, get the shotgun and find our boy." Dean looked as though he were going to argue for going after Sam himself and John stopped him with a look. "No, Dean. You've lost too much blood. You can barely stand. You're staying here." John ordered.

"Right. Cause you're eyes aren't crossing from that concussion." Dean said angrily and tried to stand only to be pushed back down with his father's hand on his shoulder.

"No arguments. Do what I tell you." John stepped back and froze, watching his breath frost out.

"Dad?" Dean asked, seeing his own breath and instinctively checked the salt line was unbroken. They were unarmed and it was their only defense. He looked up and gasped in shock. "Sammy!"

The Banshee appeared slowly before them, fading into being. In her arms she held Sam's lanky form, water dripping from him to puddle beneath them. She stared sadly at Dean, her eyes rising to meet the rage in John's.

"Give me my son you bitch!" John growled. He was blinded with anger and fear that the monster would taunt him with his own son. He was seconds away from jumping after Sam, weapons or no.

"Help him." Her voice eased through the air, shocking both Winchesters. She knelt gracefully and lay Sam just outside the circle before floating a few yards away. "Please."

Dean threw caution away, unable to ignore his brother so close. He crawled over the salt line to fall beside Sam. His skin was like ice as he placed a hand on the bare, damp chest. "Dad! He's not breathing!" Dean looked up as his Dad came to them, anguish cracking his voice.

"He's wet." John observed as he carded his fingers through Sam's dripping hair.

"I meant…the canal. It was an accident." The Banshee's voice was filled with sorrow.

"Chest compressions, Dean. He's drowned." John ordered as panic crushed his heart. He tilted Sam's head back and gave a breath to his baby boy.

Dean knelt above Sam, placing his hands carefully and starting CPR. "Come on, Sammy." Dean gasped, tears falling to drop on his little brother. "Please don't leave me."

"He has not gone." The Banshee whispered and stood watch as the elder Winchesters worked feverishly to breathe life back into their youngest.

John pushed two more breaths into his child, his baby and silently prayed to his dead wife to help him, to save him. Sam's body twitched, spasmed and gave a wet, gurgling cough.

"Turn him!" John shouted. He and Dean rolled Sam onto his side as he gagged and coughed water onto the ground.

"That's it, Sammy!" Dean coaxed, rubbing vigorously on his back and arm, the pain in his shoulder forgotten.

John allowed himself to breathe as Sam's coughing eased. He gently pulled his youngest into his arms with Sam's back against his chest. He rested his face in Sam's damp hair for a moment and trembled with how close he had come to losing him. He looked up to the still surprising sight of the Banshee.

"Lay me to rest." She said, meeting the amazement in John's eyes.

"Can you tell me what happened?" John asked quietly of the red haired spirit.

"I walked here." She looked out at the canal. "There was another…I died." She shook her head slowly, scarlet tresses flowing gently around her.

"Another?" John was working very hard to suppress his shock at the Banshee who had attacked them, taken his son, returned him and was now peacefully answering questions. "A man?" The Banshee shook her head again.

"A ghost?" Dean asked. He knelt beside Sam still, a death grip on his sibling's hand.

The Banshee tipped her head to the side. "He glowed. He did not belong here. He followed…" Confusion flowed across her face. "He followed…my daughter and then…he followed me and he…killed me…us." Her now tear filled gaze fell on Sam before turning to the spot where her bones were buried. "Lay me to rest." She said again.

"We will." John squeezed Sam tightly and then passed him to his brother. "Keep him upright and try to warm him up." He said softly and settled Sam against his big brothers' chest. John stood and watched the Banshee. "Thank you for giving me back my boy."

"He reminded me." She looked down at Sam with a sad smile. "I had forgotten."

"Is there anything…" John was out of his element here and hesitant. "Something you want me to tell your daughter?"

The Banshee smiled her sad smile again. "She knows."

John nodded and patted Dean's shoulder. "I'll be right back. Need a shovel." He strode off on wobbly legs to climb back up to the bridge.

Sam moaned softly and Dean tightened his grip across his shoulders. "Sammy? You with me, Tiger?" Sam's head rolled back to drop on Dean's shoulder and he blinked open confused, hazel eyes.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was reed thin. He pressed back against his big brother, trying to get closer to the warmth seeping into him.

"Hey, little brother." Dean said, relief flooding through him; making him weak. "You're alright. I've got you."

"Dad?" Sam asked and looked blearily around. He jerked in shock as his eyes found the Banshee, his breath coming in quick pants.

"Hey. Hey it's alright, Sammy." Dean winced as he brought his hand up to rest in Sam's hair, making his shoulder burn. "She's not gonna hurt us…I think. Dad's gone to get a shovel. It's ok. You're safe."

Sam quieted in Dean's embrace. The feel of his big brother's hand tangling through his hair comforted him. His chest ached and burned. His throat felt as though it were full of gravel and he remembered drowning. It sent a tremor through him.

"Shh, Sammy." Dean rested his cheek on the drying hair. "You're safe I swear."

"Forgive me." The Banshee asked, her luminous eyes meeting Sam's.

"I'm not your son." Sam replied, his eyes wide in fear and began shivering. Dean held him closer trying to reassure him.

"I missed my son." Her eyes went back to her unmarked grave. "I never got to see him. To hold him and…I forgot who I was."

Just like that, Dean understood why she had taken Sam. Even in her madness, she'd remembered being a mother. Sam had helped her find herself again.

John scrambled back down the hill, shovel in one hand and a fresh canister of salt in the other.

"Dad!" Sam called.

"Sammy!" John slid to the ground by his sons and took Sam's face in his hands. "Hey, Tiger. How you feeling?" Seeing Sam's tired smile just then was one of the best moments of his life.

"I'm'okay." Sam replied in a sleepy drawl.

"Just hang on here a little longer." He gave Dean a firm nod and stood, hefting the shovel.

The gravesite was shallow and took John less than a half hour to clear. All the while the Banshee stood silent witness, hovering motionless yards away, only her hair moving as it flowed slowly out around her. A pang of sorrow made John sign with ineffable sadness. Among the remains of Regina Morrigan were much smaller bones, delicate and oh so tiny. He set them gently with his mothers, knowing that this was the unborn son she had died with. He covered them with salt and lighter fluid. John stood slowly, matchbook in his hand.

"Regina." He called softly. For the first time since he had started hunting, he found himself regretting the need to salt and burn a spirit but the Hunter in him assured him that if he did not, she would eventually become the Banshee again. She only nodded at him with a smile. John struck a match and dropped it to the remains. He stepped back as flames sprang to life. Seconds later, Regina burned brightly and vanished.

John said a soft prayer that she find peace. He hastily shoved everything back into the duffel and tossed it over his shoulder. He went to his boys and smirked. They had both nodded off, heads resting together. He placed a hand on each of their cheeks, grateful beyond words to have them both alive.

"Wake up boys. Time to go."

John ended struggling up the hill with a son under each arm, each having refused to leave the other and wait. Most of the time the Winchester stubborn streak was a life saver but sometimes it was just damn irritating. Both boys were having trouble putting one foot in front of the other.

They reached the car after what seemed an eternity, not helped by the fact that dawn was only an hour away and the sky had begun to lighten. Dean crawled into the backseat of the Impala and took his little brother as their Dad helped him in. "Hang on a sec." John went to the trunk and pulled out one of the blankets they kept for emergencies. "Here Dean."

Dean took it and spread it over Sam as he shivered against him. He was warmer now but still suffering the effects of hypothermia from his up close and personal time with the Banshee. It was worrying and he wanted to get him warm. He tucked the blanket around his little brother and pulled him in close to share his body heat. Dean hissed in a breath when Sam's head butted against his wounded shoulder, seeing stars.

"Dean? You ok?" Sam asked wearily and moved away. Dean pulled him back.

"I'm good. You're too cold still." Dean fidgeted with the blanket and sighed when Sam's eyes began to droop. "Go to sleep, midget."

"Am not." Sam slurred. "Yer a…amazon."

"You know I'm kicking your ass for that when you're better right?" Dean chuckled and was answered with a soft snore.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued...  
_


	7. Chapter 7

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

" _Dean? You ok?" Sam asked wearily and moved away. Dean pulled him back._

" _I'm good. You're too cold still." Dean fidgeted with the blanket and sighed when Sam's eyes began to droop. "Go to sleep, midget."_

" _Am not." Sam slurred. "Yer a…amazon."_

" _You know I'm kicking your ass for that when you're better right?" Dean chuckled and was answered with a soft snore._

_**CHAPTER 7** _

John shut the bathroom door on his thirteen year old, now warming under a blistering shower and went to his stubborn seventeen year old who had yet to lay down as he'd been told.

"Dammit, Dean. Lay down before I put you down. You need rest." John ordered. Dean sat on the edge of the bed holding his wounded shoulder as if afraid to move.

Dean rolled his eyes at his Dad. "I'm fine, Dad."

"We've been over this." John picked up his protesting sons legs and swung them up on the bed. Dean groaned but let his Dad help him lay down. "See? If you _were_ fine, this wouldn't have been so easy."

Dean snorted. "By the way, I think I know what killed Kaz's mom."

John looked up in surprise from pulling off Dean's boots. "It was a pretty vague description, son."

"Yeah but I think I'm right." Dean closed his eyes in bliss as the blankets were pulled up over him. The soft bed, warm blankets and painkillers Dad had given him were making his eyelids heavy.

"Dean?" John tapped his sons chin and smirked when drowsy green eyes met his. Dean was quickly heading for a crash.

"Right. Um…Powder Mill Park. That ghost I saw with Kaz." Dean struggled to order his quickly scattering thoughts. "Her mom said the thing that killed her didn't belong there. That it followed her daughter first. What are the odds Kaz just happens to know a creepy spirit that fits her mom's description?"

"Good point." John watched Dean's eyes close, snap open and drift closed again, smiling as his body relaxed suddenly into sleep. "We'll figure it out later." He said softly.

"Dad?" Sam called as he opened the bathroom door.

"You okay, Sammy?" John went to his baby boy, standing there in too short sweatpants, his older brothers tee-shirt and dripping hair.

"Sleepy." Sam said and suffered his Dad vigorously rubbing a towel through his hair. Sam's thoughts turned to the Banshee again and he impulsively threw his arms around his father's waist, burying his head into his shoulder.

"Sammy?" John asked, surprised. He dropped the towel and hugged his trembling son.

"She changed." Sam mumbled into his chest.

"Who changed?" John was confused.

"She had Mom's face." Sam squeezed harder, trying to forget the image. "The Banshee used Mom's face when she had me…when she touched me."

John was shocked, feeling tears wet his shirt where Sam's face rested. He felt a surge of anger for the dead woman. Had he known how she'd tormented his boy, he wouldn't have been so charitable with her at the end, sad story or not. He dropped his chin to rest on Sam's head. "It's ok, son. She's gone and you're safe. We'll keep you safe." He felt Sam nod miserably against him. "Come on. Bed." John led him to the bed and rubbed a hand through his hair. "In you go."

Sam released his father and climbed on the bed, crawling up to Dean's head and sliding under the blankets next to his softly snoring brother. Sam, still craving warmth and safety, snuggled into Dean's uninjured shoulder. Dean, even sound asleep, unconsciously wrapped his arm around his little brother as he had for the whole of his life. Sam sighed once, loud and long and fell quickly to sleep.

John smiled, happy to have his sons well and asleep and safe. He checked the salt lines at door and window and headed for the bathroom for a much needed shower of his own. He stopped in the doorway, his hand on the frame and stared. There was a thick pencil line on the frame with 'Sammy-13' written under it. Higher above was a second, much thicker line and above that 'BIG brother-17' was scrawled and John laughed softly then sniffed as his eyes stung. He ran his fingers over each line and wished he had been the one to make them. He glanced back at his sleeping sons making one big lump under the blankets and felt a little stab of guilt that he had missed this moment with his boys.

Unbidden came the memory of Mary pushing a giggling, four year old Dean against the kitchen doorframe, calling to John to bring a pencil. It was his birthday and there were three shorter lines beneath the one Mary made at the crown of his head. She had laughed and planted a kiss on his head, telling him that he was growing too quickly. John pushed the memory down and tucked it away with all the others. He was doing what needed to be done. He hoped Mary would understand that he was trying to protect her sons. In his mind, the only way to keep them safe was to find the thing that had killed her and kill it. He gave a last brush of his fingers to the marks on the frame and turned away, shutting the door behind him.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

Dean's 'Sammy radar' woke him suddenly with the unerring knowledge that his brother needed him. The mewling sounds coming from beside him and the thrashing arms and legs beating against his side told him all he needed to know. He tightened the arm he had around his little brother and pulled him in close.

"Sammy. Come on, Tiger. It's just a nightmare." Dean said softly, calmly. He should have known Sam wouldn't sleep without reliving what had happened, prone to nightmares as he was and Dean felt deep guilt that he hadn't been able to protect him from it.

"Dean?" John's voice came sleepily from the other bed.

"Just a nightmare, Dad. I got him." Dean added his injured arm to wrap around Sam, ignoring the twinges of pain and smoothed fingers through damp hair. Sunlight was trying to peek around the heavy curtains in the window, a single ray falling across Sam's face as the fear slowly began to smooth away with Dean's voice. "You're safe, Sammy." Dean felt the deep breath from his little brother as he relaxed finally into his chest. "I've got you." Sam was sleeping easily again and Dean followed after him, head resting in his dark shaggy hair.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

"We should find your friend, Kaz and talk to her again." John said absently while studying a map of Powder Mill Park. They had taken over a table in the back of the local library and Sam was, as usual, making quick work of the research needed. Somehow he always seemed to know exactly where to look and was as at home in a library as his father and brother were on the hunt.

"No, Dad." Dean said firmly and blushed as his father looked up at him in surprise.

"Care to explain why not?" John asked slowly, unused to having his eldest son question anything he said.

"She doesn't need to know this." Dean willed his father to understand. "Dad, if we're right, if her Mom was right, then Kaz led this thing to her mother. It won't matter it's not her fault. She didn't mean to. She didn't even know." He sighed. "But she'll have to live with knowing she caused her mother's death the rest of her life." Dean shrugged with one shoulder, his other arm in a sling. "Besides, she doesn't know anything about the ghost anyway other than he shows up."

John sat back, considering. The Hunter in him said 'talk to the witness, emotional fallout is not your problem' but the father in him was not so sure. He hoped that Sam would never have to know the truth of how his mother had died. John knew that his youngest's heart was big enough, sensitive enough that he would feel responsible, never mind he'd only been six months old. That wouldn't stop him feeling the guilt. He sighed, nodding.

"Alright, Dean. We'll leave her be." John agreed and smiled at the relief on his son's face. "I'm not an Ogre you know."

"You're not tall enough to be an Ogre." Sam said off hand as he came back to the table and set down a large book. Dean snorted and John barked a laugh. He clapped Sam on the shoulder and pulled the new book over.

"So what have you found?" John looked at the pages Sam had opened.

"Well it was a Powder Mill obviously. Started by a guy named Daniel Rand. They supplied gun and blasting powder during the Civil War." Sam grabbed the book from in front of Dean that his older brother had been ignoring and flipped it open as well. "There was a massive explosion at the Mill in 1887. I think that's when Rand died."

"You think?" Dean raised a brow.

"Yeah well, it doesn't actually say how he died, just that he did but it was the same year and the Mill went to his wife and oldest son." Sam pointed out a picture of the Rand family. "It was weird too. The powder explosion happened at just the right time when all the workers were at breakfast. Not a single casualty."

"Well isn't that convenient." John drawled and took a closer look at Daniel Rand, his Hunter senses tingling.

"Yeah. Maybe the reason this spirit is so pissed is because he was murdered up there." Dean frowned. "If this guy got blown up, there's not gonna be any bones to salt and burn."

"We'll have to go with a banishing spell then." John pulled his journal from his coat pocket and opened it, flipping through. "Bobby gave me one not too long ago. Haven't had a chance to try it yet."

"Hope it works better than the last one." Dean groaned. "I still have scars from that damn poltergeist."

"Can I come?" Sam asked and smiled hopefully up at his father.

"No way, Sammy." Dean answered instead. "Dude you're gonna stay at the motel and watch bad movies."

John smirked but agreed. "Dean's right. Not this time." He wasn't ready to see his son put in jeopardy again so soon after last night. Sam's shoulders rounded and he gave his best puppy dog eyes to his father to no avail. "Not going to work this time, son." John said and ruffled his hair affectionately.

Sam groaned and crossed his arms over his chest looking disgusted. He pulled his father's journal from his hands to look at the banishing spell while he and Dean discussed strategy. It wasn't as involved as the last Banishing spell he'd seen. That last had required drawing symbols on the ground, words spoken over each, herbs and crystals and all kinds of things that had had Dean cursing 'New Age nutjobs' for days after it hadn't worked. This one looked to be from early Judaism. Sam rolled the Latin words around in his head, memorizing them out of habit and the ritual itself. All that was required was a Pentacle, a silver knife and knowing which way was north. He smirked. Even Dean couldn't mess that up he thought to himself.

"The Sand hill seems to be where he's focused." Dean said and pointed to the location on the map for his father.

"That's where the family home used to be. On top of that hill." Sam offered. "It was torn down in the early 1900's."

"Huh." John held up the book Sam had first given him. "Guess when the sightings first started to appear."

"Same time the house came down?" Dean shook his head. "Figures. They blew him up, took his business and then tore down his house. I'd be pissed too."

"How'd he follow Kaz and her mom though?" Sam asked suddenly. "Don't ghosts usually stick to where they died?"

"Not always, Sammy." John smiled, proud of Sam's inquisitive mind and the intelligent question. "They can sometimes latch on to people and leave their haunt for a short time before they're pulled back. It takes an incredible amount of energy and will."

"They have to really want it." Dean added. "Can't blame him following Kaz." He said and smiled appreciatively to himself for a moment, remembering his evening in the backseat with relish. He jumped when his father smacked him up the side of the head with the map.

"That's enough of that." John glared at his son, instinctively knowing where his mind had gone.

"Head in the game. I know, Dad." Dean groaned and then gave him an irreverent smirk.

"Let's get back and get geared up for tonight." John rolled up the map and let Sam gather up the books he wanted, taking his journal back from Sam with a smile. Hopefully tonight would go fast and easy and they could be on their way tomorrow.

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

John stood with Dean at the base of the Sand Hill in Powder Mills Park. It was just after eleven, the park closed and moonlight drifted between filmy clouds high above to wash across the sand and trees. The night air was warm again and filled with the sound of crickets and cicadas, a gentle breeze ruffling the long limbs of the Willow trees that seemed to abound everywhere they looked. Sam had told them the Willow trees were actually part of the blasting powder process, making his older brother pronounce him a 'geek' once again.

"It's a pretty place." John observed. He hefted the duffel bag to his shoulder, checked his shotgun and nodded to Dean. "Let's go make it safe again."

Dean checked the silver knife at his hip and brushed a hand over the Pentagram hanging on his chest and followed his father. Climbing the sand hill proved to be an exhausting affair. There were paths around the side of the hill but they were fenced and closed off at night and would add more than an hour on their time to the top if they followed them. Going straight up the front was faster, but the sand made for heavy going. They stopped halfway to lean against the wooden pilings and catch their breath.

"Wonder why Daniel the ghost hasn't shown himself yet?" Dean said and pulled out his EMF detector. He'd cobbled it together from an old Walkman and flicked it on. The needle lurched to the right and dropped again. "Well he's here somewhere."

"Or something is." John said. "There were multiple explosions here over the years it was in operation. Could be more than one spook."

"Awesome." Dean groaned and kept his shotgun handy, rock salt filled rounds ready. John pronounced the rest over and started to the top again, Dean on his heels. Periodically, Dean's detector would sound off and then go silent as if something was coming near and then moving off again. It was making Dean's teeth itch with tension. He wished the bastard would just appear already. He'd like the satisfaction of filling it full of salt.

John stumbled the last few feet to the top and bent over, hands on knees to catch his breath. Dean puffed up behind him and cussed at the climb, making his father grin. Dean may not be a Marine like his old man but he certainly cursed as though he were.

The top of the hill looked serene. There was a wide open space overhung with Willow trees. The ground was packed sand and dirt. John could almost see where the house had once been situated. The view would have been impressive. He headed for the center of the clearing, pulling a salt canister from his bag.

"We'll make a circle here. Give ourselves somewhere to fall back to." He announced and whirled around as Dean's detector suddenly screamed.

"Dad!" Dean shouted. The ghost appeared between them. As Dean had seen him before, he glowed white in the darkness, a full formed figure with no features. Dean raised his shotgun as his father did and then swore. Neither of them could shoot without hitting the other. The ghost made the point moot. It flung out one white arm and Dean felt himself knocked backwards. He grunted and pinwheeled back over the edge of the hill and down into the sand. He heard his father shout and then the report of a shotgun a moment later. Dean rolled into one of the wooden pylons with a grunt and felt his eyes cross as his wounded shoulder took the brunt of the impact. "Crap." He groaned and closed his eyes, trying to breathe through the pain.

"Dean!" John shot into the spirit the moment his son vanished from sight and watched it blown apart with satisfaction. He dropped the duffel and ran back to the edge of the hill. "Dean?" He could see his son resting against a row of wood fence twenty feet below. He slid over the side and used gravity to get him down faster, keeping his gun ready and clear of sand as he went.

"Dean." John reached him and palmed the back of his son's head, raising it up. "Are you alright?"

Dean groaned, teeth clenched and managed to get his eyes open. "Been…better." He managed and hissed out a breath as his shoulder screamed at him again. "I'm good. Get me up."

John knew his son was anything but good. He put it away though and took Dean's good arm, pulling him shakily to his feet. They had work to do and Dean had no choice but to suck it up for now. Worry tugged at him, seeing a growing wet spot on his son's left shoulder.

"Looks like you've pulled some stitches." John started toward the top again, noting how his son had kept hold of his shotgun all the way down and felt pride in his boy. He was becoming an excellent Hunter. "We'll take care of them after we send Daniel Rand on his way."

Dean ducked down to pick up his EMF detector as they neared the top. "Oh you bastard!" he cursed. "He killed my detector. Next time he shows up, I get to shoot him." Dean growled and John laughed.

"Deal." They reached the top and John got them both quickly to the center of the clearing. He let go of Dean, relieved when he stood solidly on his own and grabbed up the salt. He poured a large circle around his son. Just as he completed the circle, the ghost appeared again. Dean's gun echoed in John's ears as he shot and dissipated the spirit a second time.

"Hoo-ah!" Dean said fiercely and grinned. "Bet this is just pissing him off."

John said nothing, focused on the ritual now. He pulled over his duffel and retrieved a silver knife, then a wrought iron Pentagram on a thong he slipped over his neck. "Keep him off me while I perform the banishing." Dean nodded, serious at once and quickly reloaded his shotgun.

A gravelly voice crawled through the night air, the words scraping on their ears. "She…was…mine." The ghost flickered into sight beyond the circle and vanished again before Dean could fire.

John raised the silver knife and stepped just outside the circle to start the banishing ritual. "Ateh." He touched his forehead with the blade. "Malkuth." The blade tapped against his chest.

"You…took…her." The voice sounded again, softer.

"Hurry up, Dad." Dean growled, not liking where this was going.

"ve-Geburah." John tapped the blade to his right shoulder. "ve-Gedulah." Then again to his left shoulder and the ghost spoke again, this time in a whisper that made his skin crawl.

"I…will…take…him." The spirit appeared again beside John, threw its arms wide and disappeared.

"Dad?" Dean asked. John shook his head but didn't speak, not wanting to break the ritual.

John clasped his hands around the knife against his chest. "Le-Olahm, Amen." He turned to face east, holding out the knife as Metallica sounded from Dean's pocket.

"That's Sam." Dean said in surprise and fished the phone out, flipping it open. "Sammy?"

"Dean he's here!" Sam's panicked voice etched fear into Dean and he stared at his father with wide eyes.

"Dad! Stop! He's gone after Sam!" Dean almost screamed it and gave the phone to his father, ritual forgotten.

"Sam? Tell me what's happening?" John ordered in a clipped voice, swallowing the fear.

"Dad I looked out the window cause it got cold in here all of a sudden and he's just standing out there!" Sam was near tears; John could tell but was holding it together. "Dad why is he here?"

Dean was already picking up the duffel and his father's discarded shotgun. "Dad!" There was no doubt in his mind. Sam was in danger. They were going.

"Sam, I need you to stay calm." John said, purposefully keeping his voice even and trying to ratchet down the panic level of both his sons. "In the weapons bag under my bed. Get the Silver dagger and the Pentagram. I'll teach you the words…"

"I already know the ritual, Dad." Sam interrupted and smiled in spite of how scared he was when his Dad gave a small laugh.

"Of course you do." John shook his head. "Don't leave the room. Open the door but stay behind the salt line."

"Okay, Dad." Sam listened to Dean in the background begging their father to hurry and Dad's assurances that they would be there in minutes. Sam hung up the phone and looked out the window at the glowing figure as it moved closer. "I can do this."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_To Be Continued...  
_


	8. Chapter 8

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_"Sam, I need you to stay calm." John said, purposefully keeping his voice even and trying to ratchet down the panic level of both his sons. "In the weapons bag under my bed. Get the Silver dagger and the Pentagram. I'll teach you the words…"_

_"I already know the ritual, Dad." Sam interrupted and smiled in spite of how scared he was when his Dad gave a small laugh._

_"Of course you do." John shook his head. "Don't leave the room. Open the door but stay behind the salt line."_

_"Okay, Dad." Sam listened to Dean in the background begging their father to hurry and Dad's assurances that they would be there in minutes. Sam hung up the phone and looked out the window at the glowing figure as it moved closer. "I can do this."_

_**CHAPTER 8** _

Sam dropped the cell phone on his Dad's bed and dove under it for the weapons bag they always kept in the room. The temperature in the motel room was still barely above freezing. Sam could see his breath puffing in small clouds, all from the influence of the ghost outside. He snuck a look over the end of the bed and jerked back in surprise. The spirit of Daniel Rand was practically pressed against the window now. In his mind, he heard the voice of Kaz's mother telling them it had followed her to the bridge and killed her and he shivered harder.

"No." Sam said and refused to let his fear swallow him. "I _can_ do this." His Dad trusted him to take care of himself until he got there, to banish the spirit. He would not let him down. He tugged the bag out and unzipped it, hastily digging through the guns and knives until he found the silver. He pulled that out and found the Pentagram tucked into the side pocket. He slipped the leather thong over his head so it rested against his breast and stood, knife held firmly in his left hand as the ritual called for.

It took every ounce of courage he had to walk to the door, take the knob and turn it. Sam opened it slowly so as not to disturb the heavy line of salt beneath it. He stepped back with a gasp as the ghost appeared just on the other side of the entry, held at bay by the purifying salt. Sam took deep breaths to calm himself and raised the point of the blade to his forehead.

"Ateh." He said softly, making the word a clear thought in his head. His eyes stayed unmoving on the spirit as he mimicked his father's motions, making the sign of the cross along his body. "Malkuth, ve-Geburah, ve-Gedulah, Le-Olahm Amen." He turned to his left then, forcing himself to take his eyes from the spirit and pointed the blade East. "Ye ho wau." Sam turned a quarter turn to the South, feeling sweat drip between his shoulder blades as he was forced to turn his back on the ghost. "Adonai." Another quarter turn and he could see the spirit in his peripheral vision. "Ehe I eh." A breeze blew up, flowing through the room, ruffling Sam's dark hair into his eyes. He turned to face the spirit again, blade pointing directly at it. "Agla."

The breeze grew stronger while the ghost remained still as if waiting. Sam brought the blade back to his forehead. "Ateh, Malkuth…" He stared down in horror as the breeze became a wind and the wind funneling through the open door spewed salt in around Sam's feet. He had no time to think before the line was broken. His eyes snapped up to the ghost.

The leather thong holding the Pentagram moved around Sam's neck. The symbol whipped up past his face, twisting behind his head and Sam felt his feet leave the floor as the leather bit into his neck below his jaw. He gasped, choking for air, fingers of his right hand scrabbling to free himself as the ghost used it to levitate him. Sam stared up seeing the Pentagram thunk flat against the ceiling. He strained his ears, hoping to hear the distinctive sound of the Impala's engine but the night was silent except for his choked cries.

He squeezed a sliver of a breath past the leather and did the only thing he could think of to save his life. "ve-Geburah." He fought for another breath and squeezed out the next word as his lungs burned. "ve-Gedulah." His vision was tunneling, his head spinning and demanding oxygen as the ghost took three careful steps into the room, glowing head tilted up to Sam. He opened his jaw wide, begging, pleading and got one last gasp of air past the thong. "Le-Olahm, A…Amen."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

"Dad. Hurry." Dean begged. Every fiber of him vibrated with the need to be with his little brother. He couldn't fail him again, he just couldn't.

"We'll get there in time." John assured his son in a dangerous voice and hoped, prayed that he was telling the truth. His heart pounded in his ears, behind his eyes. His hands clenched and unclenched on the steering wheel, urging the Impala to go faster. She shot along the quiet streets; thankfully free of police for the speed limit was less than a thought with the youngest Winchester in danger.

"Hang on, Sammy." Dean breathed against the window. His shoulder was bleeding still through the torn stitches but he felt none of it. In his head danced visions of blood and death that all had Sam's face and he was close to choking on the tears. 'Please don't let me fail him.' Dean said silently to whatever might be listening.

"Try his phone again." John ordered, desperate to hear his boys voice.

Dean flipped it open and dialed, hoping that this time Sam would answer where he hadn't the last two times. It rang and rang and, as before, tripped to voicemail and Dean slammed a fist into the door in desperation.

"Keep it together, Dean." John told him fiercely. "Could be any number of reasons why he's not answering." He fought for calm in the face of Dean's wrath and terror but in truth he felt it just as strongly. They reached the center of Fairport Village and John heard the not so distant horn of a train as the barriers began to drop ahead of them. He growled and pressed the accelerator to the floor. "Hang on." They were not going to wait on a freight train. The car jumped forward, flying down the road and over the tracks, gaining air for a moment as the light from the nearing train bathed the interior of the Impala before she was past and screaming off toward the Motel. They were so close, so nearly there.

Dean was leaning forward as if he could urge even more speed from the engine. His eyes fastened eagerly on the roof of the Motel as they neared. His Dad squealed the tires as they turned into the parking lot and sped to the rear of the complex. As they neared, Dean could see the room door standing open and his heart clenched. The car had barely stopped when Dean launched himself from inside, shotgun held ready to blast the ghost if it were still there. He slid to a stop inside the door and then dropped to his knees with a cry, shotgun sliding across the floor.

"Sammy!" Dean gathered his fallen brother into his arms. Sam had lain sprawled on the floor unmoving; eyes closed and lips a light shade of blue. Dean saw a piece of leather twisted beneath his chin and got his fingers beneath it, giving a tug and loosening it.

"Dean?" John pounded into the room. "Sam!" He was beside his sons in an instant. He put trembling fingers against Sam's throat as Dean unwound the cord of the Pentagram from his throat and tossed it away. He dropped his head to Sam's in abject relief. "There's a pulse. There's a pulse."

"He's breathing, I think." Dean put his ear beside his little brother's mouth and nodded frantically. "Yeah, yeah he's breathing. Oh god." He crushed Sam to his chest while his Father stroked a hand along Sam's face.

"Get him up on the bed." John ordered and stood. He kicked the silver knife as he turned and pulled salt from the open duffel. He shoved the door shut as Dean laid out Sam with his back against Dean's chest and re-poured the broken line.

Dean leaned back against the headboard and supported his brother, one arm across his chest and breathed in time with him, reassuring himself with the steady thump-thump beneath his hand that Sam was still there. "Sammy?" Dean smoothed his over longhair from his brothers eyes and rubbed the knuckles of his hand along Sam's sternum. "Sammy. Wake up. Please?" He looked up to his Dad with worried eyes as the older man sat beside them and assessed his youngest child.

"He's been strangled." John saw Dean's eyes darken to match his own. "He must have finished the ritual or he'd be…"

"Don't say it." Dean cut across him and rubbed Sam's chest again. "Come on, midget. Time to wake up. You're giving the old man gray hairs."

John growled and smirked and took Sam's chilled hands in his own, rubbing warmth into them. "Sammy? Son open your eyes for me." It was delivered in the authoritative tone both his boys had learned to respond too and it seemed to work. Sam's arms and legs gave a weak jerk, his head rolled against Dean's chest and his eyes cracked open just a slit.

"Dean? Dad?" Sam croaked through his aching throat and felt his brothers' chuckle through his back as he watched his Dad's eyes glisten with unshed tears. "Got 'im." Sam said and raised a hand to rub his neck.

"You did, Sam. Very well done." John patted his hand, proud and stood. "Stay with him, Dean. I'm going to see if I can get some hot tea from the office. Soothe that throat of yours." He smiled down at Sam. "Then we're re-stitching that shoulder."

"Balls." Dean said, with feeling using their Uncle Bobby's favorite curse. John laughed and reluctantly left the room and his boys.

"How you doing, Tiger?" Dean asked softly after Dad left. Sam coughed and twitched as it shot pain up into his head.

"Throat hurts." Sam whispered. Whispering seemed to hurt less. "He was really mad."

Dean groaned and thumped his forehead down into Sam's hair. "That's my fault. I was pissing him off I think."

Sam gave a short, pained laugh. "You're good…at that." He wiggled to get a look at Dean's left shoulder and gasped. "You're bleeding!"

"Aw it's nothin'." Dean assured him and got a tighter hold when Sam tried to get up. "Knock it off and sit still. Dad'll take care of it." Sam settled and heaved a few relieved breaths, closing his eyes.

"I was listening." He said softly, almost a mumble.

"Listening for what?" Dean asked and tunneled his fingers through his brothers' hair again, needing the contact and comfort himself.

"Th'Impala." Sam said, sleep in his voice as the ordeal started to pull him into sleep. "Hear her…engine. Know yer'comin'."

Dean chuckled against his head and held him more securely as Sam's body went lax with sleep. "Dude you're such a girl." Yet it was Dean who held him tightly, who brushed a tender hand along his face and placed a fond kiss into the unruly mop of dark hair though he'd never have done it had Sam been awake. "Never change, Sammy." He said softly. "Man, don't you ever change."

_**-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-** _

_The End.  
_


End file.
